


Blankets, Socks, and Life in General

by CJaneway



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Hanzo Shimada, Amputee Jesse McCree, Canon Disabled Character, Comfort, Cute Jesse McCree, Disabled Character, Drug Use, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Green Tea - Freeform, Hana has issues, Hanzo and Jesse being soft, Hanzo doesn't feel welcome in Overwatch, Hanzo is angsting, Hanzo learning to deal with his shit, Hanzo owns make-up, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jesse helping Hanzo deal with his shit, M/M, Mommy Issues, Sassy Hanzo Shimada, Self Care, Slow Burn, So much Green Tea, Stump care and hygiene, comfort items, sad Hanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJaneway/pseuds/CJaneway
Summary: Hanzo is trying to settle into base, even after having been there for a while, but it's not as easy as it seems. Jesse is a sweetheart, and they end up finding more common ground than they initially appear to have."He regretted, daily, following Genji to Overwatch, even if it was the punishment he rightly deserved. Hanzo finally ensconced himself within his assigned quarters, a little metal box with a bunk, a prison-style toilet nook, and a closet. It wasn’t much, but it functioned as a shield from the rest of the world, which was something Hanzo needed after four days of Tracer being loud and bubbly, Reinhardt being loud and boisterous, Mercy being snippy and jabbing needles where needles had no business being, D.Va. having no respect for people that wanted quiet, and, finally, Genji being himself – it was all grating on Hanzo’s last nerve."AN: Rating subject to change, as is tags.





	1. Barrier Cream and Artificial Intelligence

**Author's Note:**

> So. I have no physical disabilities, and I have no personal experience with amputees or the process, or the care, but I tried to do some research, if it's offensive, inaccurate, or anything of the sort, please tell me. 
> 
> Also, slow burn. McHanzo being cute bois and looking out for each other.

The mission had been, in other words, awful. Not because of injuries, because there were none, not because of a failed objective, because the payload was found, and dropped off, exactly as scheduled. The mission was awful because he’d had to interact, again, with people that could barely stand to hide their disgust. He regretted, daily, following Genji to Overwatch, even if it was the punishment he rightly deserved. Hanzo finally ensconced himself within his assigned quarters, a little metal box with a bunk, a prison-style toilet nook, and a closet. It wasn’t much, but it functioned as a shield from the rest of the world, which was something Hanzo needed after four days of Tracer being loud and bubbly, Reinhardt being loud and boisterous, Mercy being snippy and jabbing needles where needles had no business being, D.Va. having no respect for people that wanted quiet, and, finally, Genji being himself – it was all grating on Hanzo’s last nerve.

He settled down on the mediocre bed and uncoupled his legs with a relieved sigh. Genji wanted him to come here to help redeem himself, Hanzo went in a fit of sheer stupidity, if he was honest with himself, caused by the shock of seeing a brother he believed long dead alive, covered in metal, and kicking. He set the pair of legs against the wall, within easy reach, and reached under the covers for a tattered piece of cloth that he gently arranged across his thighs and tucked under his stumps. The blanket was originally a deep blue with little dragon prints on it, but after years of travel and several hundreds of washes it looked like a dull blue-ish gray, and the print was barely visible. He’d bought it because larger blankets kept getting stuck in his prosthetics, especially tangling in his toes, and he didn’t always feel safe enough to take his legs off – and being on the run was cold business, mostly for the body, the heart didn’t really care because everything was deeply fucked up already. He should have thrown it out, it wasn’t providing much warmth anymore with how worn it was, but for some reason Hanzo kept it.

Probably because it was the first item he had bought for himself. Everything else he’d had at that point were things he had stolen with him when he escaped from the clan.   

Or something.

No, really, Hanzo had no idea why he kept the ratty thing around. It had been mended so many times the entire edging was re-stitched by his own hand. It was so patchy and thin it had lost all of it’s original use. He shifted around in the bed, worn blanket still wrapped around his legs, and grabbed the covers and put them around his shoulders – the thought of throwing it away didn’t sit right with him at all.

It was comfortable in a world where nothing else was.

The thought was kind of awful, to be honest, here he was, well into his thirties, and the most comfortable thing in his life was a blanket. Well, he snorted indelicately, that much hadn’t changed from his childhood – in fact, his life had been deeply uncomfortable, even if it had looked like a lavish existence from the outside.

Of course, he’d done nothing to improve upon his own misery, in fact, he had kept digging his own grave, long after it reached six feet deep. The people that had helped raise him had turned out to be murderous bastards in the end, and they had manipulated Hanzo into becoming their weapon, and he let them, easily. His hands clenched at the thought, bunching up the ratty blanket fabric of the blanket – he always came back around to this, thinking about his own mistakes, it was almost like-

“Hey, Shimada!” A voice tore through his self-flagellation, which was just as well. Followed by three heavy handed knocks to his door.

“I am here.” He responded. “Wait a moment, I shall be out.” Before he quickly took off his covers, bunched up the little blanket and hid it, and reached over for his legs. It was a shame he had to put them back on so soon – they were the best on the market, yet they still strained his body to the point of pain. He walked over to the door and opened it.

“Sorry, I had taken off my legs.” Was what he said, before he even registered who was standing there.

“No problem.” It was McCree, dressed in a t-shirt, some track suit pants, and that infernal hat perched on his head.

“Did you need something?” Hanzo knew what he wanted for himself; peace, quiet, a cup of tea and no interruptions, but he forced himself to remain polite – apparently the cowboy was one of the people that kept Genji sane after he received his massive amounts of prosthetics.

“So yer legs are prosthetics, huh?” McCree mused, which irked Hanzo, as he was pretty sure that was not the reason the cowboy had shown up at his doorstep.

“Yes.” Hanzo answered, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice “Now, how can I help you?” it was a struggle to remain civil, he had just gotten comfortable.

“Genji wanted ya t’ maybe come meditate with him n’ Zen.” McCree said as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“So, he sends you as his errand boy?” Hanzo commented, the entire thing reeked of Genji, now that he thought about it – Genji had never really done things for himself, he always charmed everyone to do things for him, even their strict parents weren’t completely immune. Sending the cowboy to deliver a message was no worse than the time a half-naked prostitute came in and woke Hanzo up to tell him that Genji didn’t feel like showing up to sparring lessons.

“I was goin’ here anyway, my room’s down the hall.” McCree almost seemed offended, but Hanzo was back on his legs, outside his comfortable cocoon and talking to someone he didn’t really feel like talking to, so the archer’s sympathy was less than it could have been.

“He could have sent a message.” Hanzo demonstrated by fishing his phone out of his top and quickly located Genji, where he replied that no, he had no intention of meditating today, thank you. _Or any other day_ , he added in his head.

“So, ‘r ya goin’?” McCree questioned.

“No, I texted Genji.” Hanzo replied as he placed his phone back inside his pocket.

“Why not?” The cowboy asked, which was extremely rude Hanzo felt, but he decided to take the high road – if he argued with everyone’s favorite cow herder the cold indifference here at base might turn into something more hostile, which was undesirable.

“I am not comfortable with it.” Was the closest thing to a real answer Hanzo could produce without laying all the cards on the table and explaining all his conflicted emotions concerning Genji, and his entire, life on the table.

“Fair ‘nough.” McCree said, much to Hanzo’s surprise “I ain’t never been a fan of it m’self. Genji tried ta make me sit still n focus on my breathin’ n’ all it did was make my nose itch like a sonufagun.” The cowboy grumbled.

The sharp bark of laughter that Hanzo produced seemed to startle them both; but McCree took it in stride and a lazy grin spread across his face.

“So y’do have a sense ‘a humor.” He mused.

“If not, I would have had a pair of humeri to make up for it.” Hanzo sassed back, thinking of the old anatomy pun.

“Whassat?” McCree looked like a giant question mark.

“Go ask your doctor.” Hanzo said with an air of satisfaction. He made a short bow to the cowboy and retreated inside – it was time to get comfortable again. Maybe he’d listen to some music to keep the thoughts at bay.

“I will!” Came the chirpy parting Hanzo heard as the door closed. He locked it, just for safe measure. He was craving tea, so he decided to make some before he uncoupled his legs again. There was room enough for a small desk in the room, and the only thing on it was a water boiler, a mug he’d acquired during one of his first missions, and a box of sencha bags. The mug was white, big, and had the words _Me? Sarcastic? Never_ emblazoned across the white porcelain in bold black lettering. He ‘d never owned such a thing, and when he came across it sitting, innocently, in one of the wrecked shops he’d cased out to find a decent snipers nest, he might or might not have smuggled it into his waist pouch, some deep part of him rejoicing at owning something so _frivolous_ , and scandalous according to his old family. It might have been bagged tea in a dingy little cell, but right now it smelled like a little bit of peace, and it would probably taste like comfort.

Waiting for the tea to steep was always a trial in patience. He wanted his legs off.

Finally, the aroma of sencha began to swell and fill the room – it made the bare walls seem more alive, even if logic denied the effect completely bogus. Three long minutes, which was his preferred steep time, passed, and eventually he was able to remove the teabag, and bring the steaming mug back over to the bunk. He put the cup down on the built-in side table, sat down, and took his prosthetics off again, and prayed there would be no reason to re-attach them for a while, his nubs were sore, his muscles were aching, and his people-tolerance was at an all-time low.

Hanzo settled back into the bunk, found the blanket, wrapped it around the remainder of his legs, tucked it in, grabbed the covers, and soon found himself exactly how he was before McCree had disturbed him – he then grabbed the tea cup and held it with both hands, feeling how the warm porcelain, almost too hot, spread warmth through his palms and fingers.

It was nice to get away from everyone, and right now he was surrounded by comforts, and that always improved his mood. The archer reached under the pillow the first book in a series called The Raven Rings, which was an old fantasy series from around 2015 – it had finally been translated to English a good while back, according to the book-store clerk, he hadn’t expected to enjoy it as much as he did, he’d mostly bought it to have easy reading on hand. Hanzo loved reading serialized books and manga – it was easier to get used to one set of characters and keep following them on hand. This time it was about a world based off Norse Mythology and a brave and scared heroine named Hirka – Hanzo fell hard and fast for the series and had already devoured the first book. He sipped his tea and was about to open the second one when another knock disturbed him, _again_ , and the archer felt like the world was punishing him more than what was necessary.

“What!?” He growled, getting some peace and quiet around this place was like trying to fit twenty pounds of shit in a five-pound bag – an exercise in futility.

“Sorry, pardner!” McCree’s sheepish voice was muffled because of the door. “I know y’said y’needed some quiet, but I’m in a bit of a pickle – help me out?”

“I would love to, McCree” Hanzo, said, thought he really, really, wouldn’t “But I have just uncoupled my legs again, and my muscles are strained – can it wait?” He laid it on thick and made his voice sound a bit warmer than usual, maybe he’d sound regretful, yet pained enough to where the cowboy would fuck off and enact a rodeo somewhere else.

“I know, darlin’, and I’m sorry ‘bout that” McCree sounded, if possible, even more pathetic. Hanzo wasn’t even going to start on that atrocious pet-name. “But I just need me a hair-tie, and I was hopin’ you might have one.”

“I have one,” Hanzo admitted loudly, because apparently McCree could do a very good kicked-puppy act, even through a metal door. “Yet I cannot give it to you unless I put my legs back on, the door is locked, and I am in pain.” It was the truth, Hanzo wasn’t technically lying, he might or might not have played up the pain a bit, but that wasn’t necessarily lying, it had to do with pain tolerance – or so Hanzo told himself.

“Just use Athena t’open yer door!” McCree almost sounded exasperated.

“What?!” Hanzo yelled, mostly because he’d never heard of using a woman to open the door.

“Use Athena!” McCree cried, as if it clarified everything, quite frankly, it didn’t.

“Why in the world would I use a woman to open my door!?” Hanzo yelled back, because he was honestly getting tired of this, he wanted to drink his tea and read his fantasy books, not be engaged in a shouting match through a door.

“Athena is the base AI!” McCree shouted back – wait, base AI? Since when did the base have an AI presence, and why had no one informed Hanzo about it. Typical, he suspected, why would they give access to and knowledge about the internal AI system to someone who was the would-be murderer of one of their members. Hanzo sighed.

“I have no knowledge of a base AI!” He yelled back.  Honestly, if he had to untangle himself from this deep physical comfort and put those damn legs back on Hanzo thought he might scream.

“Hold on!” McCree called out, before he said something that didn’t quite reach through the door. Then the door slid up. The locked door slid up.

“What did you do.” Hanzo growled – he was aware that he looked somewhat pathetic in this swaddling of his own making, but what pissed him off the most was having the Cowboy traipse into the first sanctuary he’d had in years. Really, being on the run wasn’t conducive to a feeling of safety, and even if people here seemed to loathe his presence, at least he could sleep easy knowing that their honor prevented them from not protecting him against outside, and inside, threats.

“I told Athena to open the door, y’ aren’t in the system yet, so y’ ain’t got a user profile and all that crap, so this room, accordin’ to the AI room list, is unassigned so anyone can enter.” McCree looked sheepish. The information made a certain rage rise in Hanzo’s chest – his privacy had been nothing but an illusion.

“Fantastic.” Hanzo ground out between clenched teeth.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, y’got those hair ties?” McCree honestly looked like an overgrown puppy when he was sorry about something – it was almost easy to forget that the man in front of him was one of the most wanted criminals in modern history and that his kill count could even rival Hanzo’s.

“Yes, in the desk drawer.” Hanzo said absentmindedly, honestly, this entire situation was tiring, he just wanted McCree gone. As the cowboy turned towards the desk and started rummaging through the drawer, which honestly didn’t contain much, Hanzo decided to ask some questions of his own: tired or no – information was important.

“Why have I not received access to the AI?” Was the first question, even though the pit in his stomach gave him a bad feeling about the answer. “Also, what do you need the hair tie for?” Was the next one, which had an answer he was hard pressed to predict.

“I don’t know why y’ haven’t gotten access to the AI, Winston should’a set ya up with that, day one!” McCree absentmindedly answered, and it was the answer Hanzo expected, honestly, Winston hadn’t given him the warmest of welcomes. McCree made a victorious noise and triumphantly held a hair tie above his head. “There’s the beauty!” the cowboy crowed “I need this puppy t’ hold my arm-sock up.” McCree explained. Hanzo sat there, still wrapped up, and slightly stunned by the mans mangling of his own language.

“Puppy? Arm-sock?” He asked in a daze, wondering if the cowboy had a special deal with Winston where he got paid extra every time he managed to confuse non-English speakers with his phrasing.

“Idunno, ya can kinda use puppy as a synonym fer things ya like, and my arm-sock is the wool bag I put on m’ stump ta keep it warm when I take my arm off.” McCree explained, and it sort of made sense, if Hanzo strained – he wasn’t up to straining at all. “I need the hair-tie to keep the sock up as the darn elastic is too worn.” McCree almost sounded sad when he revealed the last part.

“Why don’t you replace it?” Hanzo asked, knowing full well he was a hypocrite what with the worn, ratty thing he had wrapped around his legs. It was so soft, though.

“Idunno – jus’ feels wrong somehow.” McCree confided. He almost looked embarrassed. And then, of course, his gaze settled on the ratty blanket in Hanzo’s lap. “Plus, I see ya ain’t got much room to complain there.” He added with an accompanying hand movement.

“It’s comfortable.” Hanzo snorted, while desperately trying to keep the defensiveness out of his tone. If he acted up now it would only seem weirder, so he struggled, instead, to keep his calm and pass it off as normal. He sipped his tea and hoped McCree would scram now when he’d gotten his hair tie.

“Yeah, I get the need for that.” McCree commented as he held up the hair tie. “Prosthetics ‘r great, but they still strain the shit out of yer muscles n stuff, rub the skin the wrong way.” He continued before he seemed to put his fake arm under his other arm, brought his flesh fingers up to fiddle with some buttons, and then Hanzo heard a familiar hiss – it seemed McCree was taking off his arm right here. The cowboy kept a hold of his prosthetic by clamping it between his upper arm and ribcage and used his hand to roll up his sleeve.

“Are you ok?” Hanzo asked, not because he had a special fondness for McCree, more because he genuinely felt bad for how tired the cowboy looked at this very moment.

“Yeah, just got some chafin’ goin’ on, it ain’t nice.” McCree admitted with a half-smile.

“Do you have any more barrier cream? If not, I do have some.” Hanzo offered, mostly because he recognized the redness of McCree’s skin and had personal experience in exactly how uncomfortable that could get if it wasn’t cared for.

“I’ve had the thang for years, I should be better at takin’ care o’ it.” McCree grumbled good-naturedly.

“I keep telling myself the same thing.” Hanzo admitted, as he took another sip of his tea. McCree might have been a nuisance, but this conversational topic was turning out to be somewhat nice. Usually people only looked at him with pity or awe, after all, he was an _inspiration_ for managing without two legs. He hated that word. Plus, most of the random strangers he met had no idea what he’d done before in his life, _inspiration_ indeed.

“Where’d ya have that cream?” McCree reminded Hanzo of his previous offer.

“It’s in a small box under the bunk.” Hanzo said expectantly: he was still deeply comfortable and somewhat opposed to moving. “But you might want to use the sink to wash off the skin. I have towels in the closet.” Hanzo gestured to the standard closet with his tea-cup.

“Good idea.” McCree agreed. There was a soap dispenser on top of the sink, and he used it generously. It was a mild, unperfumed soap that didn’t give Hanzo any of his usual skin issues, one of the few things he’d brought with him when he showed up at base with a huge bag slung over his shoulders and a ton of shit dragging behind. McCree hissed when the water hit his skin, but he methodically washed his stump anyway, and he grabbed one of the smaller towels from the closet to wipe off, before he used the same towel to wipe down the closet door handle and the sink – at least the cowboy was polite.

“Do you not have barrier cream?” Hanzo asked, as McCree was busy hanging the towel up to dry on the wooden desk chair.

“I don’t know where I left the darn tube.” McCree grumbled, “An’ I don’t feel like sittin’ through another one o’ Angela’s lectures ‘bout takin care of m’self.” The cowboy admitted. He’d gotten down on the floor without prompting and was dragging the medium sized, lidded box out from under the bunk – it was where Hanzo kept his compression socks, barrier creams, liner patches and whatnot.

“Angela?” Hanzo asked, he hadn’t been told of anyone here at base named Angela. Really, this lack of information was starting to feel like a targeted slight and not a possible side-effect of short-staffing. Unless it was McCree’s girlfriend, but he rather doubted that, considering that maintaining a decent long-term relationship while on the run was a feat best not attempted, as Hanzo had learned.

“Y’know, Mercy?” The cowboy answered. _Ah, there it was_ , Hanzo thought, so he’d already met this Angela, but he’d received her callsign and curt medical treatment instead of an actual introduction. Of course, expecting anything more from the doctor who, quite literally, brought his brother back from death’s door was, perhaps, a bit much. He watched as McCree covered his stump in cream wiped off the excess off the tube and placed it back in the box, closed the lid, and left everything exactly where it was.

“Thanks, darlin’” McCree said before he started and looked down at where he’d applied the cream “Is that a coolin’ effect?”

“Yes, it is. This is not the standard cream you get here, I take it?” Hanzo confirmed. “Why do you keep calling me pet names?” He asked, because that was the second time the cowboy had used his mangled version of “darling” without them having really interacted much before.

“Nah, we get the cheap stuff.” McCree commented on the cream. “And sorry about that, jus’ a habit. The pet-names, I mean.” McCree seemed sheepish again. “Anways, I’d like to thank ya for helpin’ a poor fella out, y’ want me to go talk ta Winston ‘bout the AI thing?” He offered. Hanzo wanted to be offended, he really did, but honestly, the thought of having to put his legs back on and deal with it himself was not appealing in the slightest.

“If it is not too much trouble.” Hanzo replied neutrally. He sipped some more tea.

“No trouble at all, ya saved me from a scoldin’ and a half.” McCree grinned as he tipped his hat. “Anyway, I can see I’ve overstayed m’ welcome somethin’ fierce, so imma go put my arm up, then go have a little chat with Winston.” McCree excused himself. “You have a nice day, now!” Came the parting shot before he swanned out the door.

Hanzo sighed, with an unexpected smile playing about his lips. Maybe the cowman wasn’t as bad as he initially thought.


	2. Tea, Make-Up and Artificial Intelligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo and McCree talk, that's it. Hanzo gets permission to use McCree's first name. Oh, and there's discussions about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I have been playing with the thought of Hanzo being a drag queen at some point in my head, and that shit semi made it into this story, he just wears make-up. And likes it. He was a bouncer, not a queen, but he was the prettiest damn bouncer in the place. And don't worry, Haruto will just be mentioned a lot, I don't think we'll actually meet him, I'm just building up Hanzo, and right now Haruto is his "good time" in life that he looks back to, because he's a little out of his element and miserable at this point. Oh, and if I get any shit about "OMG Hanzo opened up to McCree so faaast" Imma smack a bitch, dead. Trust me, I'm a cashier at a store and people have told me their deepest fucking secrets over me trying to get them to pay for their fucking cheese. Really. I had one guy come play the lottery and while he was trying to pay he was also telling me how it was going to be hard to travel this year as his father in law had been diagnosed with cancer. Whoop-dee-doo-dee-doo...

Hanzo woke up with a full bladder and his blanket tangled around his face. It smelled more like him than the standard sheets and beddings the bunk had come with, so it was kind of comforting. He untangled himself from everything and reached over for his legs – his stumps felt a lot better after having given them a proper rest, he considered doing a round of cleaning of both his own skin and the sockets on his legs – McCree had given him a stark reminder of the consequences yesterday. He felt the legs couple into place, the sensors hitting the right spots and synching up to the ones he had under his skin. He then wobbled over to the toilet nook of his quarters and did his usual morning ablutions. He’d forgotten to brush his teeth last night, and he could taste stale green tea on his own breath.

Eventually he shuffled over to the closet and picked out something casual to wear – he wasn’t scheduled for any missions for today, and most likely not for the next three, if the standard rotation had anything to say about it. A tank top, a hooded jacket, and a pair of cut off sweatpants should do. He was contemplating waiting out the normal breakfast rush, because facing the entire Overwatch team in one go was probably going to be more uncomfortable than it was worth; and if he had to sit with Genji and Zenyatta making cow eyes at each other while spouting inspirational nonsense before noon he might finish the job he started so many years ago.

Just as he was zipping up his hoodie, a heavy-handed knock sounded at his door – was that McCree again? Hanzo shuffled over to the door and hit the opener. And sure enough, the cowboy stood there with an expectant look on his face. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt this time. The shirt was tied off where McCree’s prosthetic hand would normally be.

“Is your skin still feeling chafed?” Was the first thing Hanzo asked.

“Yeah, lil’ bit, but it’s a helluva lot better than yesterday evenin’. Imma need me some o’ that cream.” McCree admitted with a grin. “But that wasn’t why I came ta’ see ya. I got you the hook-up.” He lifted his hand up to grab at a phone in the left breast pocket of his shirt and handed it to Hanzo. “Here’s yer non-mission com connection, where you can see the stats of the base, contact other members, n’ set the temperature of your room, n’ shit like that.” McCree looked awfully proud when Hanzo took the device from his hand. “Ya can use voice command too, but we’ll need to set it up for ya.” McCree explained.

“Does the AI listen in to our personal conversations?” Hanzo asked the cowboy, who answered with a shake of his head.

“Nah, but how ‘bout we get you calibrated and set up, so you can lock yer little cave.” McCree joked. Hanzo wanted to be offended, but the cowboy was right – his little quarters were like a cave, and much like the natural rock formations, it provided shelter and peace. Well, unless you counted a certain hat wearing man who needed hair-ties, but he was, Hanzo decided, probably a potential exception.

“I would offer you some tea, but I only have one cup here.” Hanzo said as he stepped back into the room and motioned for Jesse to come inside.

“I’ve got a few in my room, mostly cuz I keep findin’ funny ones, I’ll go get one.” Before Hanzo could get a word in edgewise, the cowboy almost sprinted down the hallway and took a sharp left about three doors down. _Hmm_ , Hanzo thought, _I guess he was not lying when he said his quarters were close by_. He decided to go back inside, fill the kettle and put it on – he originally intended the tea comment to be a gesture of politeness, after all, McCree had helped him out, but now, he realized, tea sounded like it would absolutely hit the spot. He meandered over to the cot and picked up his used mug from yesterday and took it over to the sink to rinse it out. McCree came in through the door seconds later, holding the ugliest mug Hanzo had ever had the misfortune of seeing.

“Who in their right mind would own a mug such as that?” He said with a sidelong look at the zombie-skull shaped monstrosity.

“I ain’t never claimed no sanity, darlin’, now hook me up with some tea!” McCree joked as he proffered the ugly mug. Hanzo snorted and grabbed the atrocious thing and put both his own mug and Jesse’s abomination on the desk, put a teabag in each of them, and filled them with water.

“I usually steep my green tea for three minutes; do you have a preference?” Hanzo asked the cowboy.

“Three minutes sounds about right.” McCree answered. “While we wait we can start settin’ up your gizmo, here.” Jesse turned around to find a place to sit, he ended up pulling out the wooden desk chair. “I ain’t never been happy about these quarters.” He grumbled.

“Have you been here long?” Hanzo asked, conversationally. He didn’t sit down himself, he felt like standing until the tea was done, so he wouldn’t forget and end up having either over steeped tea, cold tea, or both – it happened with an alarming frequency if he was making tea for himself and doing something else at the same time.

“Yeah, was one o the first ta answer the recall.” McCree replied. His brows furrowed and Hanzo almost felt like it was a sore subject. “I used ta be part o’ Blackwatch back in the day.” He said as if Hanzo had any idea what Blackwatch even was. By the name alone it sounded Overwatch related, but Hanzo couldn’t be sure.

“Blackwatch?” The archer questioned, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“They didn’t tell you nothin’, did they?” McCree observed, which was the crux of the matter: people didn’t really trust him enough to tell him.

“I think my history might have something to do with that.” Hanzo added in a self-deprecating tone. He was pretty sure McCree was fully aware of his past sins – everyone else seemed to be. He smelled the aroma from the tea; three minutes were coming up so he decided to remove the bags and throw them away before scooting Jesse’s cup over to him before settling on the bed, his own cup in hand. To Hanzo’s surprise, Jesse chuckled, a low, hollow sound.

“Some o’ em ferget real easy.” He held the teacup up in a mockery of a toast before taking a careful sip. “Lemmie tell you a lil bit ‘bout myself: I used to be a gangbanger.” McCree delivered as calm as you please. The words almost made Hanzo choke on his tea – that wasn’t something he expected at all. “Used ta run with this gang called Deadlock; racketeering, murder, assassination, human trafficking, arms dealin’, if you can name it and it made cash, you bet your ass we did it.” McCree sipped his own tea like he was an old man telling a fairytale, and not an Overwatch operative disclosing his surprisingly sordid past. “What got me up and out was me betrayin’ the gang to Gabriel Reyes, the commander of Blackwatch, I got the people that had been my family fer almost six years killed fer a chance at a better life.” McCree’s voice wavered a little on the word family – Hanzo felt like he knew why; after all, hadn’t he also betrayed his family? “Blackwatch was a subdivision of the old Overwatch, the one under Jack Morrison, strict bastard he was, but fair ‘nough.” Even Hanzo had heard of the feared leader of Overwatch in it’s prime – a mutant of a man who could complete even the hardest of missions.

“Now, Blackwatch” McCree continued “Blackwatch was the wet-works division, did all them thangs Overwatch couldn’t touch.” Hanzo could feel his own eyebrows creep up his forehead at that admission: Overwatch had been held up as a shining beacon of heroism and light when it dominated the globe. “I can see you’re surprised, darlin’, so was I.” McCree took a long sip from his cup. “I mean, I’d heard about Gabriel Reyes, him bein’ second in command an’ all, and my dumb ass went “Oh, I’m joinin’ Overwatch” like a dumbass kid.” McCree almost sounded betrayed when he said that. “But I ended up with a bunch of other degenerates Reyes had pulled outta the same shit he grabbed me from – we were the gremlins in the closet no one ever talked ‘bout.” It seemed McCree’s mug was coming up on empty, he tilted his head back and drained the last of it before placing the ugly ass thing down on the desk. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t catch that shit in the news.” McCree finished as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. _Uncouth_ , Hanzo thought as he drank his own tea – it had gotten a bit cold.

“I think that might have been during a period I was hiding in Bangkok, I stayed in and rarely received any news at all.” Hanzo also polished off his tea and set the cup on the side table.

“Bangkok?” McCree asked.

“The capital of Thailand.” Hanzo answered back with a smirk.

“I know that ya sassy fucker, what were ya doin’ in Bangkok fer?” McCree grumbled with a dragged smile.

“Trying to hide from the remainders of my family.” Hanzo divulged. “After I, well, killed Genji, I realized my mistake and started taking out prominent Shimada members while siphoning off resources into hidden accounts.” Hanzo almost wished he had more tea; his throat was getting dry. “But a few of the elders realized my betrayal and started working against me, so I fled and hid with an old school friend of mine who had made a life for himself in Bangkok. I had the resources, but I had no way of utilizing them without tipping my pursuers off.” Hanzo decided that he needed some more tea – he hadn’t really planned on divulging his entire life to this cowboy, but McCree had shared some intense things, tit for tat and all of that. He got up brought his cup and grabbed the tea kettle.

“Would you like some more?” He asked McCree, who was watching him with a strange intensity.

“Thank ya kindly.” He replied with another tip of the hat. Hanzo put the kettle on and put two more bags of tea into the cups. Hanzo sat back down and waited for the water to boil.

“Haruto is an old friend of mine,” Hanzo continued his story, almost unbidden. “He’d started, to my surprise, a drag bar in the Bang Rak district.” Hanzo snickered to himself – Haruto had always been fabulous but seeing him managing a drag bar was a true introduction to his childhood friend’s element. “I lived with him on the second and third floor with a few of the queens for about three years, I served as a in house bouncer and sometimes bar tender as payment for my room and board.”

“Really now, I never woulda’ guessed” McCree commented, but his tone held no judgement.

“I would never have guessed that you were, what did you call it? A gang banger?” Hanzo riposted kindly.

“Fair ‘nough.” McCree acquiesced with a smile.

“I learned how to do my hair, and how to do my make-up differently enough to where I was almost unrecognizable on the floor.” Hanzo admitted, he felt a bit of color creep into his cheeks, but it wasn’t shame, it was something else. “It is amazing what contour can do, I’m glad more fugitives do not know the secret, finding them would be dreadful.” Hanzo commented with a joking lilt to his voice, McCree gave him a thumbs-up coupled with a shit-eating grin. The water finished boiling and he moved to get up and pour it, but McCree held out a hand and reached for the kettle himself.

“Three minutes?” He asked, to which he received a confirming nod from Hanzo. Who got up and stood around. “Don’t worry, I got it.” McCree said with a smile.

“I know, but I have a habit of forgetting I made myself tea, and as such if I do not pay attention, I will either have over steeped, cold tea, or a combination of the two.” Hanzo imparted with a disgruntled scrunch of his nose. McCree let out a boisterous laugh.

“Fuck if that ain’t me – I do that shit all the time. I keep fergettin both my tea ‘nd my damn coffee.” McCree chuckled a bit more and gestured for Hanzo to sit back down. “There’s two of us now, that tea’s gonna get drunk.” He determined.

“If you say so.” Hanzo reluctantly agreed. Time would tell if McCree’s predictions would come true.

“But fer real though, did ya bring any of the make-up here?” McCree asked out of the blue.

“What? Why?” Hanzo felt like he was caught a bit off guard, even if he had just explained that he basically wore make-up on the daily for three years.

“Just curious to see how different you’d look, ta be honest.” McCree looked honestly curious.

“I did my basic kit, the best of it, but I haven’t felt a need to use it here.” Hanzo admitted with a shrug, “Mostly because I didn’t bring any of my flashy clothes, Haruto has them in a trunk.”

“Whelp, I can certainly understand stickin’ to an aesthetic.”  Jesse gestured himself, even outside of his regular armor he looked like something out of a western. “But why did you bring it if ya weren’t gonna use it?” Hanzo deliberately put on his best resting bitch face in response.

“I am not leaving Guerlain to be abused by Haruto – he is a good friend but a fiend towards all make-up.” It was stated in such a matter of fact tone that it sounded like a true fact from God.

“Really?” McCree always questioned things, religion included.

“No, McCree, I just refuse to leave behind three thousand dollars’ worth of make-up.” Hanzo deadpanned. The cowboy choked on his own spit and ended up doubling over, heaving.

“Three thousand dollars!?” McCree practically shrieked, which amused Hanzo to no end. The cowboy even held his hand up to his chest like a swooning maiden, as his eyes tried to pop out of their sockets.

“I can afford it.” Hanzo said with a smug smirk, he had left the Shimada empire nearly bankrupt.

“Shiet, I ain’t even gonna… dayum, not even my damn hat ‘nd boots set me back that much!” McCree reached his hand up to feel at his hat, almost as if he was checking that it was still there.

“Was your hat about to fly off?” Hanzo snickered.

“Damn near!” McCree huffed, as he straightened out his headgear. It looked like McCree was about to say something else, but a classic western whistle sound rang through the room. McCree immediately reached for his back pocket and pulled out his own phone, speaking of, Hanzo’s hadn’t been set up yet.

“Oh, that’s a notification ‘bout a general meeting.” McCree said absentmindedly as he put the phone back into his pocket.

“And how did they expect me to attend without you giving me access?” Hanzo questioned. It had been nice to sit around and talk with McCree, but reality came sneaking back in – he wasn’t wanted here.

“I wish I knew, darlin’, luck was I was sittin’ here.” McCree answered, but a shadow stole into his eyes. “It’s a bit hypocritical of ‘em, though, I get a free pass for all my shit, ‘n you don’t just cuz we know the guy you did it to.” McCree mused out loud. “And Genji said he’s forgiven ya…” he trailed off. Hanzo felt himself twist up a bit, so he said nothing. McCree must have noticed so he quickly changed the subject and grabbed at Hanzo’s phone.

“Let’s get this puppy set up,” The cowboy crowed, even if it did sound a little forced.

“Yes, let us.” Hanzo agreed. It was kind of awkward now when the mood had gone downhill. McCree quickly showed Hanzo the operating system – it was developed for Athena and Athena alone, and it had no outside influence which made it much more stable, and secure, than a lot of the ones on the open market. He then had Hanzo calibrate his voice through the device’s microphone and got his agent profile set up, with a half way decent profile picture to go with it – honestly, Hanzo would have preferred better lighting and a better background, but actually going outside his room wasn’t the most inviting thought right now.

“There, we should be good.” McCree clicked ‘Save’ with a triumphant crow. “Try, ‘er out, say Athena, and she’ll respond.” The cowboy looked at Hanzo expectantly.

“Athena.” Hanzo said, obediently. He immediately got a reply.

“Agent Hanzo, it is a pleasure.” The voice did sound metallic, but the enunciation and sentence structure was perfect.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Hanzo hesitated, but he tried to be polite, after all, this AI was in control of the entire base if it so wished. Also – it wouldn’t do for the rest of the Overwatch team to amass more dirt on him than necessary. They had enough to pick at.

“Was there anything you needed, Agent Shimada?” Athena prompted.

“What are your functions and features, and do you listen in on the goings on in the base?” Hanzo almost felt bad about adding that last question, but he didn’t feel entirely safe with this artificially intelligent mother figure hovering over his place of residence – it felt too much like being watched by the kyodai, the lieutenants, and of course, the oyabun, his on father.  

“I operate all the facilities on base, I have control over everything electrical if I so choose, and a detailed alarm system that will notify me if anything needs repairs. I can inform agents of the positions of each other, unless the agent in question has turned off that feature. It will be overridden in an emergency. I can listen in, but not without permission, and whatever information that is not vital to Overwatch will not be stored. Not even agent Winston, my creator, has access to that.” She didn’t sound offended at all, which was a relief.

“Thank you, that is all.” Hanzo curtly ended the conversation. To his satisfaction the AI signaled her ending her end of the conversation with a soft bell sound.

“So, there y’are, you’re now hooked up to the AI!” McCree said with a smile. “I took the liberty o’ addin’ all the other agents to yer device, just in case.” He handed the device to Hanzo, who put it down on his bedside table.

“Iffin ya look at the bedside table there, there’s a small notch where you can put it down ta charge. Ya only need to do it once or twice a week, dependin’ on how much ya use it, but since yer only gonna use it on base since we got special coms out in the field, it ain’t gonna matter much.” McCree pointed at a small indent Hanzo had noticed but hadn’t really checked out before, and as he looked closer, he could see a small contact sticking up in the middle of it.

“Thank you.” Hanzo said, sincerely, he wasn’t sure exactly what he would have done if McCree hadn’t stepped in and requested he get “hooked up” as the American put it.

“Yer welcome.” McCree nodded, satisfied. The silence between them stretched a bit thin and the back of Hanzo’s neck started to itch – had they run out of conversation topics already? That would be a shame, since these last two days with McCree was the first real conversation he’s had since arriving at base, beyond the long, emotionally draining, talks his brother liked to spring on him.

“So, what else did ya bring?” McCree broke the sudden silence, which Hanzo was grateful for.

“Bring?” Hanzo wasn’t exactly sure what he meant.

“Bring with ya, here. I’m bettin’ that blanket, the cup, and yer make-up, and what, yer clothes?” McCree listed all the things and counted on his fingers.

“Actually, the cup was a recent,” Hanzo paused to search for the right word “acquisition” he settled for, because admitting to snagging a cup from a broken store while they were on a mission seemed uncouth. “But yes, my clothes, well, some of them,” The gave a grin at that – he was pretty sure the club wear he had left at Haruto’s wouldn’t make it a day here. “my make-up, not that I really know why,” because that was the truth, it wasn’t because of Haruto, and it wasn’t because of the price, it just felt right to bring it. “The blanket” he counted, even if talking about it, out loud, to someone else, unsettled him a bit. “And these books.” He gestured to the stack of three books on the side table.

“Oh,” he snapped his fingers “And of course my weapon, my toiletries, my phone, chargers, pad, maintenance equipment for my legs, all the essentials.” Well, most of his essentials, moving from place to place had been hard, especially after being stationary in Hanamura for most his life. Learning to live lightly was a challenge he still had trouble mastering, and it only showed when he stayed with Haruto for thee years: the amount of stuff he’d collected was astounding. What was in the trunk in Haruto’s loft now were the few items he absolutely refused to part with on a permanent level, clothing and otherwise – the rest got shared out between whoever needed it.

“What about you, McCree?” Hanzo asked, because he wasn’t the only side in this conversation, and so far the cowboy had proved interesting.

“I’d like to tell ya that I travel light and that all I’ve got are the clothes on m’ back and the wind in my hair.” The cowboy offered up with a grin “But that most certainly ain’t the case.” He said with conviction. “I showed up here with a big ol’ water proof bag filled with my personal junk.” He grinned at Hanzo, who felt a sort of kinship with that statement: after all, packing everything you needed to live in a single bag required a large one. “Like you I brought stuff to keep my arm up, the sock is muy importante fer that, keeps it all warm and snug,” The cowboy patted the arm lacking the prosthetic, and Hanzo guessed he was wearing the sock under the shirt. “My serape, well several, I got like three or somethin’, they’re good for keepin’ ya warm.” He’d started counting off on his fingers again. “My hat, o’course, my gun, Peacekeeper, ammo and all that jazz, clothes. got like three pairs of boots, some sneakers, toilet stuff, and…” McCree trailed off “Oh, a deck o’ cards, my picture album, and I think I brought a travel shot-glass set with a matchin’ flask.”  

“It seems I’m not the only one guilty of nesting, McCree.” Hanzo commented with a smile.

“Naw, you ain’t. An’ you better start callin’ me Jesse.” McCree agreed. He started to say something, but he started and looked over at the two cups.

“I think we might’ve forgotten our tea.” Jesse said in a strained voice.

“I told you so, Jesse.” Because using Jesse’s first name and telling him he’d been wrong in the same sentence was absolute satisfaction. Hanzo stood up and took out the two tea-bags and moved to dump the contents of the mugs out, but McCree stopped him, grabbed his own mug, downed the tea with a grimace, then he grabbed Hanzo’s mug, downed his tea as well, and smacked his lips exaggeratedly.

“That tea was gonna get drunk.” He said resolutely, Hanzo just smiled.


	3. Welcome Boxes, expectant westerners and bad days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo needs a water-bottle and it all spirals from there - this was not how he envisioned his day going. Fucking Overwatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm apparently in a freakin writing godmode at the moment - maker only knows how long it will last, these frequent updates are not the norm. I assure you. I have two other WIP's people are fucking nagging my ass about (I love you Liz, you are the best <3 The absolute best!) and here I am, writing this, like I have not a care in the world. I am sorry. I am a horrible person, but please don't kill me - I refuse to be brought back as a zombie by an angry Liz who will demand I finish the Hemlock story. 
> 
> Now, onto the actual author's note concerning this chapter: the tag says slow burn, and bitch, this gonna make your arthritis riddled grandma seem like an Olympic runner. Also, Hanzo is getting more and more anxious. In case you didn't notice, and before you guys give me crap about him not being an anxious person, riddle me this; how would you react if you killed a family member, spent a decade thinking they were dead while being riddled with guilt, and then finding that they are alive, have had half their body replaced with machines, and now they have forgiven you and asks you to join their other super-powered buddies in saving the world and you now have to live in a base that is filled with friends of your family member and they know you tried to kill them. Ok? Ok. Good. Moving on from that. Also - if y'all wondering why McCree is doing what he does? IDFK, tbh, like, that cowboy is a fucking force of nature, he does what he wants with sassy snaps on top. Snaps for Jesse, now get the complement jar. 
> 
> Also, Hanzo tries to be stoic and badass, but a lot of the shit I write is from his internal perspective, he's trying to pull a Bella swan with this :| expression no matter what happens. Like, Santa could be frying an elf and drizzling it with reindeer piss under a rainbow and he'd try to go for a :| face while screaming inside like a castrato having their toes stepped on.

After McCree left, because he had shit to do beyond sitting around and drink tea with Hanzo, the archer began his day. He’d planned to get a workout in before he cleaned his leg sockets and changed out the padding. He didn’t change out of his comfortable clothes, they were just as good for working out as they were for lounging around, and Hanzo had a need to get in some sweat-time and accuracy training, so he grabbed his bow and floundered around for a second – he’d forgotten to bring a water bottle when he moved in here. The thought annoyed him – mostly because he hated drinking out of disposable cups or public fountains.

“Athena” he called out, because why not.

“Yes, Agent Hanzo.” She replied curtly.

“Is there anywhere on base one could acquire a re-usable water bottle.”

“Check your standard kit, agent Hanzo, you should have received it on arrival.” The AI answered. “Was that all?”

“Yes, thank you.” Hanzo ground out. Of course, it was in the standard kit, and of course, he hadn’t received one. Part of him wanted to believe that it was just because the re-call had just been enacted and that the, for now, illegal organization hadn’t gotten it’s shit together, yet, but for some reason it nagged at him. Winston would have told Athena to not mention the standard kit if they weren’t available. He sat back down on the bed with Stormbow across his lap. He had several options here, one was asking Winston for a kit directly, but if the kits weren’t available, he’d look like an idiot, and a greedy one at that, if he asked for it indirectly and got an answer that they weren’t available that might work, but if they were Hanzo wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. After all; he’d been here for well over a week, and that was outside that four-day mission that strained his legs quite badly. Hanzo honestly missed the days when he was the right hand of the Shimada clan sometimes; making decisions was so easy back then – now he had to weigh everything up against social clout he most certainly didn’t have. The thought was deeply unsettling. He had questioned more social interactions since coming here than he had in his entire life.

Screw it, he decided, avoiding the entire problem all together was probably the best option.

Hanzo put down Stormbow, which was a modified take down recurve, and tucked it snuggly back into the soft case he’d brought with him, which was also filled with arrows and care equipment. He then let his cut off sweatpants drop to the floor and he went for the only set of “decent” pants he’d brought with him, some baggy jeans with a dragon print and pulled them on – at a brisk walk he could make it to Gibraltar proper in about twenty minutes minutes, where he could then buy a bottle, fill it there, walk back, and forget the entirety of this situation – plus, a bottle of his own choice would probably be much better than whatever Overwatch handed out as a freebie he assured himself. He looked at his new phone, the official AI connected one, and checked his messages – there was indeed a message about a general meeting, later today at 1600 GMT – main auditorium. It was about ten now, so if he spent a grand total of fifty minutes walking and a maximum of sixty minutes browsing for bottles he would have plenty of time to prepare for whatever might get thrown at him at the meeting.

Hanzo was aware that avoiding problems like this was deeply unhealthy, but he honestly didn’t feel like being healthy right now – it seemed like too much work. He grabbed his wallet and a pair of dark, wide-lens sunglasses and made for the base main entrance – a little stealth never hurt anyone, not even here on Gibraltar.

He didn’t meet a single soul on his trek, which suited him just fine. Athena activated an alarm on his phone when he crossed the base threshold, reminding him that she was switching to a slower connection but with larger range and that he was not to lose his device. He thumbed it away and put the device in his jacket pocket, he would probably check it was there often as the pocket had no zipper.

The weather in Gibraltar was beautiful, and Hanzo almost regretted not bringing a hat, but became deeply fond of his glasses. The air was fresh, even with the heat bearing down on him, the breeze becoming a constant, welcome companion. Hanzo felt, more and more, that the walk was an exceptional idea, even if it was borne out of need to avoid confrontation. He was also deeply gratified that the watchpoint was situated on the rock of Gibraltar, he hadn’t moved around for a few days, and it was nice to start the day with a nice, gentle decline, and when he’d acquired his bottle and filled he could jog back up the incline for some change of pace.

As he came closer to the first signs of housing he registered some of the road names in the back of his head – not out of fear of getting lost, more out of habit.      

Gibraltar proper was beautiful. And bustling with tourists – he heard the recognizable cacophony as he passed Moorish Castle down Willis’s Road. He pulled up Athena’s device and, to his surprise, the AI had a map app blinking in the center of his screen; well, at least the AI was friendly. Tarik Passage – right, he would have to move down Castle Upper to get to the shopping district. He clicked what he assumed to be the Athena symbol on his screen, he was correct, and typed out a quick “Thank you” which was responded to in kind.

Hanzo was surprised to see so many old buildings – he would have expected Vishkar to have come around with their order and chaos rhetoric a long time ago.  Perhaps even that company had reservations against coming into old Overwatch territory, which, for all intents and purposes, was being reclaimed. The wash of anonymity pleased him, somewhat, he did look like a tourist, and watching the locals ignore his presence was relieving in a way. It was like walking through the busy streets of Bangkok again – but on a much, much smaller scale. Everyone had lives, everyone was busy, sticking their noses into yours and your past was honestly the last thing on their minds – if you were lucky they only wanted to get into your pants.

A few minutes later he reached what seemed to be the shopping district of Gibraltar, not that Gibraltar had much room to have districts. It seemed to be two parallel streets, which suited Hanzo just fine. _Main Street – how fitting_ , the archer snorted, everywhere with any sort of civilized anything had a Main Street. Even Hanamura had a main street. The thought made something clench and soured his mood.

Eventually he managed to meander close to something that looked like a hard-and kitchenware store – he might try his luck there. The doors chimed as he went inside, the cashier looked up from whatever she was doing at the register with a smiling “Hello”, and Hanzo forced himself to smile and nod back – he was aware that the official language of Gibraltar was British English, but that Spanish was a significant unofficial language – he hoped the cashier spoke English, as his own Spanish only involved crude language, basic greetings, and asking for beer.

He glanced around the shop and found a, thankfully in English, section labelled “Outdoors and camping” which would be a plausible bet for finding a decent water-bottle. Hanzo felt smug when he was right – at the edge of the section was a display of both plastic, aluminum, and glass water bottles.  He decided he wanted an aluminum one with a screw cap, and one of the plastic ones with a pop cap. One for training, the other for missions – he was probably set to stay at Overwatch for a good while, due to his brother, and acquiring the amenities that would make the stay a little easier was essential. He finally settled for a bright orange plastic one with, surprisingly, a tribal dragon print, and the aluminum bottle he went for was a metallic blue.

He was heading towards the cashier when he happened to look to the side and a display of thermos cups caught his eye – they were printed. He felt gleeful on the inside as he went on the hunt for some funny ones. He liked buying things in more durable materials, made it easier to travel with it – and if he could find a teacup he could bring along on a potential move that would have been fantastic. His brother’s forgiveness was still an uncertain, and sore, subject, so he was still planning for the worst. And if his ‘planning-for-the-worst’ had a funny slogan on it Hanzo could probably chuckle a little even if he ended up packing it down.

His hopes were correct – they did have some funny ones. He particularly liked the “The bags under my eyes are Prada” one – it reminded him of Haruto, and “I drink coffee for YOUR protection” which was humorous – but not accurate as he preferred tea. Maybe the others on the team would find it threatening as well – his history wasn’t a shining example of patience. One that felt fairly accurate, and kind of described his life, Hanzo felt, was “I can’t ADULT today. (Tomorrow doesn’t look good either)” – but he felt that was too revealing of his mental state, and even if he did only keep it in his quarters, someone might see.  Eventually he settled on one that said, “It might be Vodka”. He preferred Sake, but the sentiment was still close enough – and being at Overwatch had already depleted his patience enough to where drinking seemed like a viable pass-time. He also grabbed a new electric kettle on the way, mostly because his old one had been through five moves and looked crummy on the inside.

Eventually Hanzo made it to the front of the shop, where the cashier was patiently smiling at him – he didn’t feel judged, but he was sure she was thinking about something. He’d been a bouncer – hiding your ill thoughts behind a smile as you watched paying customers make complete fools out of themselves was trained into him.

“Hello.” She said, her voice had that service-personnel lilt to it.

“Hello.” He responded back. He carefully placed his purchases on the register table and let the woman do her work in silence.

“Would you like a bag, sir? Or would you prefer buying a re-usable cloth bag?” Her English was accented, but not heavily. Hanzo pondered for a minute – small decisions like this sometimes tripped him up. On one hand, a paper bag could be thrown away, and he guessed it was paper as plastic bags had been banned in most countries for years. On the other it might start to rain on his trek back, and he wasn’t up to dealing with his bag breaking open due to water damage. Of course, the skies were clear, but looks had been deceiving before. He settled for a re-usable bag out of sheer want to get this over and done with. The cashier smiled and produced three options – Hanzo sighed internally; why was choosing so hard these days? He pointed at the pumpkin orange option with a smiling tree on it, mostly because orange had been a favorite color of his for a long time – well, that and blue. The cashier packed his purchases, snipped the tag off the bag with a pair of scissors and pressed a button on the register.

“If you would, sir?” She prompted. Hanzo felt awkward – he should have had his wallet ready. He grabbed it from his pants pocket and swiped it across the terminal – his card was set to automatically allow purchases under a hundred dollars. He punched in his pin-code, grabbed the bag and thanked the cashier, who smiled at him and wished him a good day.

He breathed a sight of relief when he exited the store – and instantly remembered that he had planned to ask if he could fill his water bottle before leaving.  Hanzo cursed himself internally, there was no way he was going to go back inside and ask for a water-fill, that would seem odd. He ended up looking around for a kiosk and found one. He beelined over to it and hoped they had something decent in their drinks cabinet.  He went inside and scouted the place immediately, beelined it to the drinks cabinet, and to his relief, found some Pepsi Max. He went over to the counter where a bored looking teen was flicking at his phone, not paying attention at all. He cleared his throat and watched, with some amusement, how the teen jumped and almost dropped his phone. Hanzo put the Pepsi bottle on the counter and grabbed something that looked like licorice toffees and flung it down beside the bottle. The teen didn’t really say anything, he just scanned the items and mumbled about Hanzo wanting a bag. Hanzo held op his orange tote and the cashier left it at that. He gathered his purchases and left – time to go back to base.

 

Hanzo managed to navigate himself back to Willis’s Road and followed it up past what seemed like World War II bunkers, something he hadn’t noticed on the way down. The sun was high in the sky and he was feeling lethargic – maybe he wouldn’t jog after all. It was nice to just walk back up to the watch point, particularly when the last stretches of road became completely deserted of people – silence, sea, air, and lukewarm Pepsi. The Pepsi could have been colder, but Hanzo wasn’t going to complain.

When Hanzo finally stepped up to the edges of the base, the clock had barely rounded midday, which suited the archer just fine. Athena contacted his device and notified him that she was switching it back to the short-range network and welcomed him back; he felt pathetic for thinking it was nice, but he still thought it was nice, so he thanked her anyway.

He rounded the corner into the base proper and was about to head towards the sleeping quarters when a bright voice cut through his bubble.

“Oy, there, Mr. Shimada!” It was Tracer, Hanzo remembered her actual name, Lena Oxton, but he referred to her in his head by her callsign, mostly so he wouldn’t accidentally become too familiar without her explicit permission.

“Yes, Agent Tracer?” Hanzo answered as she moved to his side in, quite literally, a blink of an eye.

“Did you go on a walk?” Tracer asked enthusiastically – even now she was almost vibrating with energy.

“I went down to the shopping district.” Hanzo elaborated, he did feel like he was being questioned, but he decided to run with it. If it was a friendly conversation and not Overwatch using Tracer to keep tabs on him he could avoid making a fool of himself by simply complying.

“Did you need anything?” Tracer looked puzzled.

“A new water-bottle. I bought some other things as well.” Hanzo held up his bag of purchases.

“Oh, right. Did the one you got break? They are usually pretty sturdy.” Tracer blinked owlishly at him as she spoke. Hanzo had an inkling she was referring to the bottle in the welcome package, but he decided to play dumb.

“The one I got?” Hanzo asked, making sure to portray a mild confusion with his body language. Honestly: he’d never imagined he would have to use infiltration skills on supposed friendlies.

“In the care package, you know the one Winston was-” Tracer started to ramble, but as Hanzo let his confused body language remain, she slowly started catching on. “You didn’t get one, did you?” She looked like her world had come to a temporary halt. And before Hanzo could even think of formulating a response his personal space was _violated_ with a hand around his wrist and a surprisingly strong waif of a woman dragging him away from his intended goal.

“Where are we going?” Hanzo managed to get out, as Tracer was fast even without blinking.

“Winston’s lab.” Tracer chirped as she almost managed to pull Hanzo’s arm out of his socket. Beyond that Hanzo really didn’t get a word in edgewise, mostly because he wasn’t sure why he was being dragged to Winston’s lab, felt it was awkward to question a senior Agent, and before they could get very far a familiar voice called out to the two of them.

“What in tarnation are y’all doin’?” Jesse sounded awfully surprised, and Hanzo tried to convey his own surprise but it came out as a distressed noise, much to his own chagrin.

“Winston’s lab” Tracer chirped again. She still hadn’t let go of his wrist.

“Why?” McCree looked downright puzzled, which mirrored Hanzo’s state quite accurately.

“Hanzo hasn’t gotten his welcome package yet!” Tracer still had that cheery, bird-like tone of voice that set Hanzo’s teeth on edge. He almost wanted to lock the woman in a bird cage and shower her with seeds at this point, just to see what she would do. He also felt like he was being talked about like a strange exotic pet but daring to seem disrespectful against an established agent who probably wanted to help him would lower his social clout even more, so he shut up and took it like a Shimada.

“We didn’t give ‘im shit, did we?” McCree said incredulously, he lifted his hat with his mechanical hand and combed his hair back with the other before plopping said headgear back down.

“What do you mean, luv?” Tracer questioned, her voice had lost some of the annoying quality, Hanzo thought, because he refused to believe he was getting used to it.

“I had ta set ‘im up with Athena this mornin’” McCree admitted, which made Hanzo feel even more like a forgotten stray dog – invisible and easily forgotten.

“What?” Tracer sounded almost affronted.

“Yeah.” McCree agreed.

“It’s fine.” Hanzo managed to eke out in a pleasant-sounding voice that managed to hide his discomfort – Tracer still hadn’t let go of his wrist. He was itching to wrench out of her hold.

“It’s not, luv, you’ve been here for well over a week, plus that mission we did together.” Tracer turned back to Hanzo and exclaimed passionately “you should have had the Athena device, day one!” She seemed upset, almost. Hanzo wasn’t sure why; was she upset because it was a breech of protocol or because it was rude to just forget someone, even if the person being forgot was a murderer.

“Well, I might just accompany y’all.” McCree drawled with a tip of his hat.

“Sure!”  Tracer didn’t even blink before accepting – Hanzo wanted to ask why the hell Jesse was tagging a long like a lost dog, but again, he refused to sound rude – especially since Jesse had been friendly towards him. He felt Tracer’s grip slacken and quickly snatched his hand back.  

The group walked towards the lab, Hanzo still carrying his orange tote and feeling uncomfortable as hell.

Reaching the lab was a mixed bag of emotions – he was relieved that they were here, which meant he could get this entire meeting over with, but there was also the actual meeting to contend with.

“Winston!” Tracer shouted the second they got through the door, and Hanzo visibly winced and wished he could be anywhere else. Ancestors, the woman was loud!

“What!?”  A gravelly voice roared from the back of the lab – the large scientist came thumping towards them and he looked mildly terrifying. He was aware that Winston had the mind of a human, but he was still a 7’3’’ gorilla that had been experimented on – the thought wasn’t too comforting.

“Did you forget to give Hanzo his welcome package?” Tracer asked, with absolutely no shame, and Hanzo wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground because it made him sound weak for not asking for it himself, greedy for actually asking for it. Everything was horrible. He glanced over at Jesse who crossed his arms and looked at Winston with an expectant look – was it a western thing to just show up and demand things?

Winston’s demeanor softened visibly, eyes widening, and his tense shoulders lowered considerably.

“Oh, my, first the Athena and now the package?” He sounded extremely apologetic “Agent Hanzo,” the scientist turned to look at Hanzo, who felt completely out of his element, “I am so sorry for neglecting my duties as acting commander of Overwatch.” Winston continued, and it surprised Hanzo immensely. The archer didn’t dare say anything. Winston fished around in the pockets of his oversized lab coat and produced a key and handed it off to Tracer.

“Please: blink over to the storage room and get him one, there should be several ones. He looks to be a size large.” He asked, Tracer nodded, grabbed the key, blinked, and left everyone standing there in an awkward silence that Hanzo could have lived without. About a minute later Tracer came back, this time with a large box in her hands. She handed the box off to a stunned Hanzo and gave Winston the keys.

“Ready and done, chief!” She saluted.

“I am so sorry for this, Agent Hanzo, this is the second time someone has reminded me of my negligence towards you – I have no excuses, beyond being too absorbed in my own work, please forgive me.” The contrite expression he carried looked odd on his face.

“There is nothing to forgive. Thank you.” Hanzo managed to dig the words out from the lump in his stomach and paste a grateful expression – he appreciated that Winston was candid about just being too busy, that was understandable, but being brought here by two fellow agents was embarrassing and he felt like he could have done without this entire exchange, even if it netted him a box filled with unknowns.

“Well, that’s sorted, see you later!” Tracer said, patting both Jesse and Hanzo on their shoulders before blinking off to wherever she was headed when she bumped into Hanzo. It was almost a relief – she was way too intense.

“I have to get back to work, and, please, don’t hesitate to ask for anything.” Winston implored before he turned to Jesse.

“You and Tracer did good work in correcting my errors.” He then nodded at both the men and turned back to whatever he was doing.

“Whelp,” Jesse said as he rocked back and forth on his feet “That was awkward.” He stage-whispered.

“Yes,” Hanzo hissed back as he turned to exit the lab, Jesse followed.

“Tracer has ‘er heart in the good place, but she can be a lil’ much iffin ya don’t know her proper.” Jesse apologized on behalf of their teammate. Hanzo whole-heartedly agreed but he refrained from telling Jesse exactly how ‘much’ Tracer had been to him these past minutes. He settled for a non-committal hum. They kept walking.

“I am going to put this box in my room” Hanzo said, he steered course for the sleeping quarters.

“You do that.” Jesse said, “Oh, and come to the kitchen after, we’ll be havin’ us some dinner. It’s my turn ta cook.” The cowboy invited with a smile. Hanzo gave him a half-smile and nodded – he was hungry, and declining was rude, and he was curious about what Jesse could cook.

“See ya then!”  Jesse tipped his hat before he sashayed towards the kitchen. Hanzo sighed and sped up so there would be less of a chance of meeting anyone else.

When the door to his quarters slid shut behind him Hanzo had to fight the urge to collapse – he was so out of his element and everything was new, uncertain, and exhausting. He wondered, again, why he was dumb enough to be guilted into this by his brother – of course, he knew why, but it still didn’t make this experience any easier. The reason made it so much worse, in fact – he was here on a mission of atonement for almost killing his own brother, and everyone knew.

Hanzo dumped the welcome crate on the bed, put his tote down beside it, and popped the yellow circle on top that said “open here” – the crate unsealed, and the lid moved up for easy removal. What was inside was underwhelming after the internal stress Hanzo went through to, somewhat unwillingly, acquire it. There was, as promised, a water bottle, a black aluminum one with an Overwatch sticker on it, small towels for work-outs, a track suit, which was probably why Winston said he was a large, and some instant warm drinks, candy bags, and a multi-tool. Hanzo grabbed the multi-tool and put it in with his archery equipment and put the towels and track-suit in the closet, the rest of the things he left in the box, put the lid back on and slid it under the bunk.

What a day – and he still had to get through dinner and a meeting. Hanzo was unhappy, uncomfortable, and all he wanted to do was work out until he passed out.


	4. Scorn, chili, Winston and wankers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo listens in on his teammates and finds out things he already suspected. Jesse gets angry at people and brings comfort. Hanzo tries to be stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're getting into it. And no, no one in Overwatch is bad or evil, it's just that when you're hailed as the "good side" or the "perfect side" or whatnot it's easy to forget your own fault - and seriously, I'm just pointing out a fuckton of hypocrisy here. Like, ok, Overwatch is murdering to save the world because they are defending important things, but murder is still murder, even if it is for a good cause. And ok, like, the bad guys are still bad guys, but they are also human beings who happen to have made shit decisions, like, ok, sorry, brah, you gotta die, because if not you're going to blow some shit up or fuck something sideways, idk, but still, it's murder, the only thing that justifies it is reason... idk, just, fuck it, love Hanzo, fuck it, that's all I'm asking.
> 
> Well that and love me FFS, this fic is tearing me apart and making me loose sleep. Fuckssake. I love it to bits though. I need nap.

After spending some time calming himself down with a cup of green tea, Hanzo’s Athena device buzzed – it was a message from Jesse telling him that dinner was about to be served. He still didn’t understand why Jesse was going out of his way to be so nice, maybe he felt some kinship based on the commonalities in their histories. Hanzo grabbed his Athena device and headed towards the common areas and hoped he’d be able to eat and leave without any further ado. It seemed the other agents on base had already gone there as he didn’t meet anyone on the way. He knew that the people currently residing on base were Jesse, Tracer, Reinhardt, D.Va, Genji, Zenyatta, Mercy, Bastion, Winston, Torbjörn and himself. Winston had already told the team that there were more incoming re-call answers, and Hanzo guessed that organizing those were the work that had kept Winston so busy.  He was about to turn the corner to the kitchen, the smell of food was inviting, but for some reason hearing voices stopped him; listening in was rude, but if no one caught him at it would be a valuable source of information without interruptions from his own presence. An observational study of his targets in their natural habitat – he felt better already.

“- an’ ‘e finally got ‘is welcome kit!” Hanzo recognized  McCree’s voice. He heard an affirmative noise in a more female tone, and he guessed that was Tracer. He waited for McCree to continue his story, but a derisive snort silenced the room.

“What was ‘at?” Jesse asked, his voice had gone from cheery to somewhat guarded, Hanzo noted.

“Welcome…” came the reply “welcoming murderers, Morrison would have rolled in his grave.”

“Torbjörn!” Tracer sounded absolutely scandalized.

“You’ve got a problem there, pardner?” That welcoming drawl Hanzo had come to associate with Jesse was completely gone, in place he felt he heard a glimpse of the Jesse that was capable of the things in the cowboy’s past.

“No, just a bit suspicious, that’s all.” The voice answered. By Tracer’s exclamation it should have been Torbjörn but Hanzo wasn’t familiar enough with everyone’s voices and accents yet to make a proper confirmation.

“Ya suspectin’ me too then, Torb?” Jesse hissed loudly. Confirmation: it was Torbjörn. Hanzo expected something like this, but he still felt his shoulders droop involuntarily – he’d hoped to at least make tentative acquaintances in this doomed endeavor.

“You cannot fault him for being cautious” Hanzo did recognize Mercy’s voice – it stung, but he had suspected it from her as well. Not only was she the doctor who helped his brother come back as whatever he was now, but she had already hinted at her distrust of him by only giving out her callsign.

“Yer damn right I can, ya lookin’ at my history-” Hanzo heard Jesse start on another defense volley and decided to act quickly; Jesse had been nothing but nice to him, but it was unfair that the friendly cowboy should have to quarrel with his friends on his behalf. Hanzo’s heart was hammering at his rib-cage but he swallowed down the acidic taste in his mouth and went into the kitchen anyway – he owed Jesse this, after his help with Athena and the kind conversations he provided. Jesse was the closest thing to a friend he had on this godforsaken base.

“Jesse: do not.” Hanzo spoke loudly, which silenced the entire room, everyone turned to look at him. The people present were the already identified speakers and Reinhardt. Torbjörn and Mercy didn’t meet his eyes. “It is fine.” Hanzo followed up with. His emotions said it really wasn’t, and that this situation was entirely hurtful, but he dutifully ignored them like a good Shimada, “I shall take my dinner in my room.” He went over to the cowboy who stood at the cooking pots, the room was still deadly silent.

“How much did ya hear?” Jesse asked, his voice was low and soft.

“Enough. Please, no more, not on my account.” Hanzo answered, just as softly. The archer grabbed an available bowl from a clean stack, filled it with what seemed like a bean casserole, added some condiments and grabbed a spoon. “I shall give you a full review of your skills later, Jesse.” Hanzo said in a louder volume. He then turned to the room at large and gave a polite bow before exiting gracefully. It was an hour until the meeting – he had plenty of time to eat, write Jesse a private review on the Athena device, and compose himself. As soon as Hanzo left the kitchen the room erupted with noise, Hanzo could hear it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was only glad that Genji and his Monk had been absent – controlling himself would have been harder if his brother had been present.   

Hanzo put the bowl of food on the bunk side table, sat down and took his legs off. He would have to put them back on for the meeting because he would not risk showing weakness by not showing up. Right now, he was going to sit down, wrap his blanket around his legs, pull his covers over his shoulders, eat Jesse’s food, drink the rest of his Pepsi and just not exist beyond that. Of course, he had expected hostility, it was natural in a situation like this, but he had held a small hope that his brother’s forgiveness, however uncertain that entire debacle made him feel, would grant him some measure of clemency. Apparently not. He longed to go back to Bangkok and get lost in the crowds there – but denying his brother was impossible at this point, running away was not an option. It would also cause him to lose face – the great Hanzo Shimada brought low by mean words, such a laughable thought. Such a pathetic thought.

The food was good. He had no idea what it was called, but it was a hearty, spicy, tomato-based bean casserole – he had put two dollops of condiment on top, sour cream and a green topping which he thought might have been guacamole – it was. The food was flavorful, well textured, the meat wasn’t overcooked and rubbery at all, and there were plenty of vegetables – Hanzo might actually call this one of the better dishes he had ever eaten. The heat of the dish was fantastic as well, enough to cause a warm, pleasant tingle in his mouth, but not enough to burn uncomfortably.

Hanzo pulled out the Athena device and wrote his thoughts down, thought he was less expressive about it, as he refused to sound like he was gushing. At least this meal was a high point despite the rest of the day being an awkward hell.  He pressed send and went back to eating. The stew really was excellent.

A knock sounded at the door – Hanzo sighed and glanced over at the built-in alarm clock above the bunk: the meeting was still thirty minutes off, no one had any business bothering him right now, he wanted to be comfortable and enjoy his meal until he had to a meeting full of potential enemies, not pretend to like people that clearly trusted him less than a hen trusts a fox. The knock sounded again and Hanzo was almost tempted to find his music player to drown it out. It felt very wrong not to answer the door, rude to the extreme, but he wasn’t in the mood for more shit.

“Hanzo, please!” It was Jesse. Hanzo didn’t even know why he was here – he should have been enjoying the delicious fruit of his labor with the rest of the team. The knock sounded again and Hanzo just sighed.

“Athena, Please open door.” He spoke, he might as well hear Jesse out – after all, he had stood up for the archer in the face of long term acquaintances and friends. That gave the cowboy bonus points in Hanzo’s book.

“So, ya were in ‘ere.” Jesse spoke as he crossed the threshold. “I read yer message, thank ya kindly.” He tipped his hat – which seemed to be a more than regular occurrence, the gunslinger really did take the cowboy aesthetic to heart.

“You’re welcome.” Hanzo said as he polished off the last remains of food. He put the bowl down on the side table. “Why are you so kind?” He asked – the direct route seemed to be the best way to deal with one Jesse McCree.

“I beg yer pardon?” Jesse recoiled.

“Why are you so nice to me? I tried to kill your friend, my brother.” Hanzo clarified explicitly. He was honestly curious – the open hostility he faced on base was hurtful, yet expected, but this cowboy had received two simple kindnesses -  a hair tie and some skin cream – and had become his staunch defender to the detriment of his social relationships on base. It was strange. 

“Cuz I feel…” Jesse started to say something, but he stopped, swung the desk chair around, and sat down with a sigh. He pulled his hat off and ran his flesh hand through his hair. He looked down at his boots and seemed about as uncomfortable as Hanzo had felt since he came to Overwatch. The archer just pulled the covers around himself tighter and waited.

“I don’t know.” Jesse settled for eventually. He looked up at Hanzo, who was swaddled tighter than a newborn baby and looked uncomfortable and comfortable all at once. Hanzo cocked his head at the answer, unsure where that left them. “I guess I feel like we’re two birds of a feather, ya know?” It seemed the cowboy was grasping at straws, trying to explain his own actions – Hanzo appreciated the sentiment, however.

“You are risking social ostracization on my account – would it not be better if you left me to bear the rightful scorn?” Hanzo tried to make Jesse see reason; why should he, who had large amounts social clout throw it away on someone who was basically here because their not-dead brother had asked them as recompense for almost making said brother proper-dead.

“Because it ain’t right.” Jesse sounded strangled. “It ain’t right at all.” The cowboy was still fiddling with his hat as he spoke. “I told you what I done, I told you what I done, and they don’t give me no shit, I done what you did, and more.” Jesse had a strange quality to his voice as he spoke. “The only reason they gettin’ all in your face ‘bout it is cuz we know your brother.” The cowboy finally looked up and met Hanzo’s gaze. “They overlook shit when it suits ‘em and it’s just fucked up – we were the best and brightest, yet they’re just as damn petty as the rest of ‘em.” Jesse bemoaned “I’m not sayin’ we need to be perfect, but we need ta be better!” He continued resolutely. “Plus, Genji said his damn peace, he’s forgiven ya, the hell do we know?” Jesse gestured at himself and at the door, possibly to include everyone else.  “Like, it’s y’all’s business.” Jesse sounded desperate to make someone understand, but Hanzo wasn’t feeling too receptive – he deserved the scorn.

“I know that look.” Jesse almost sounded threatening as he said it. “Yer givin’ me a ‘bullshit’ look – like I’m talkin’ out of my ass.” He accused. Hanzo would have pointed at himself and cocked his head in a classical ‘who, me?’ pose, but he was nicely bundled up in his covers, so it wasn’t tempting.

“So you’re sayin’ I deserve ta be shunned, too? Issat right.” Jesse commented with an antagonistic drawl.

_No._

_Of course not!_

Hanzo started because there was no way Jesse was deserving of the treatment that was being heaped upon the archer. Jesse was kind, sweet, and had shown Hanzo a level of kindness he hadn’t experienced since he showed up on Haruto’s doorstep many years ago with a bag full of bullshit and an empty bottle of sake. The cowboy had gone out of his way to help Hanzo, and talk to him, and commiserate with him even at the detriment of the other agents, of course Jesse didn’t deserve to be scorned.

“I killed my brother.” Hanzo managed to eke out, as a defense against all of this. He pulled the covers around him tighter.

“I betrayed my family to Gabriel Reyes!” Jesse yelled, he plopped his hat back onto his head. “Yer sayin’ my family wasn’t worth the same as Genji!?” The cowboy was almost out of his seat.

“No!” Hanzo immediately yelled back “I just – I deserve it, Jesse!” he cried out “I deserve it, I took my brother aside and I slashed him up like a tameshigiri show!” Hanzo flung the covers aside, blanket too, and tried to get up, fueled by an unholy rage at something, not at Jesse, but he wanted to stand, which proved difficult as his legs were leaning against the wall – he toppled forwards. He felt time slow. Hitting that floor would be embarrassing and painful.

Jesse caught him.

“You don’t deserve it anymore t’n I do.” Jesse caught him and pressed him close – which was more physical contact than Hanzo had had out of battle in a long time. It felt weird.

“But I feel like I do.” He whispered. Jesse’s warmth felt nicer and nicer the longer the cowboy held on, even if Hanzo was half hanging off the bed, blanket tangled around his stumps.

“Ya don’t.” Jesse groused as he helped Hanzo back on the bed. Hanzo would have managed, normally, but the leaving rage had left him kitten-weak and awkward. “E’ryone on this team has killed someone’s ma, pa, daughter, son, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, cuz – we’re murderers the bunch ‘o us – we’re just doin’ it for the right side so ain’t no one callin’ us out on it.” Jesse murmured as he grabbed the worn ugly blanket and wrapped it back around Hanzo’s legs. It made Hanzo feel much better and imminently grateful to the cowboy. “Talon agents and other gang bangers don’t pop outta the ground.” Was his conclusion.

“I hate myself.” Hanzo confided – which was a confession many years in the making, and it made him feel hollow just to admit it. Like someone had taken a melon-baller to his guts several times and left perfectly spherical, empty, spaces that sucked at the rest of his entrails like a vacuum. Jesse didn’t say anything, the cowboy just pulled the covers back up on his shoulders and backed off – well, tried to, Hanzo grabbed his wrist and guided him back. The cowboy settled beside the archer and wrapped a loose arm around the quivering man.

“I hated me, too.” Jesse finally said. Hanzo didn’t say much, just leaned into the unexpected comfort the cowboy offered. “After the high ‘a getting’ kicked into Blackwatch died down, I realized that all the people I grew up with were dead, and I was sharin’ bed with their killers – I helped ‘em.” The usually warm drawl was weak and quivering. “it fucked me up.” He admitted. “I’d play poker with the dude who shot Jeanine in the face.” Blackwatch was good for stealth, but when they went all in extermination style, stealth got tossed to the wayside because of killing or converting the stragglers.

“I hated myself,” he continued as Hanzo listened on silently. The archer was leaning on Jesse to the point where the cowboy had to use an arm to stabilize himself. “But I realized that hatin’ m’self didn’t do shit – just exhausted me ‘n made me useless.” His voice was thick and gravelly.

“I thought you were already useless.” Hanzo joked weakly, followed by a wet, uncertain laugh.

“Not _that_ kinda useless, darlin’.” Jesse chuckled, “Imma let this humor deflection slide exactly once.” He continued – he recognized way too many things in the way Hanzo was behaving.

“You could have let me have that one.” Hanzo grumbled into Jesse’s chest.

“I did.” Jesse sassed “That one time.” He reiterated. Hanzo was about to sass back to the cowboy but Athena’s clear, calm, voice rung through the base.

“The scheduled meeting in the main auditorium begins in five minutes.”

_Shit._

Both men tensed up.

“We don’t have ta go iffin’ ya don’t wanna.” Jesse rumbled.

“I will lose face if I do not attend.” Hanzo said, some steel had crept into his voice – he had, technically, already lost face in front of Jesse, but for some reason that didn’t feel as horrible as it should have.  “Hand me my legs.” He commanded.

“Yer not feelin’ well.” Jesse tried to reason with the archer, who was resolutely trying to reach over the most unhelpful cowboy to get at his legs.

“I have not felt a hundred percent well in over a decade, a meeting longer will not make much of a difference.” Hanzo persisted, he managed to grab at his legs with a hand and bring them to the bed.

“Allright, sugar, but ya sit next to me.” Jesse determined with a not.

“I do not need a keeper.” Hanzo felt almost rebellious – he would not and could not become this dependent on Jesse McCree, even if having one person close that understood and supported him felt glorious.

“No, ya asshat, but you do need a friend.” Jesse’s words sliced through whatever rebellion that might have been forming inside Hanzo in an instant.

“Thank you.” He muttered as he untangled himself, again, from the blanket and covers so he could put his legs on.

“My pleasure.” Jesse sounded triumphant, which should have pissed Hanzo off, but it did not, strangely. They both righted themselves, Hanzo decided to leave the bowl for later, and they hurried along to the general meeting.

They paused outside the doors to the auditorium.

“It’s gonna get awkward.” Jesse warned as he put a hand on the door.

“I know.” Hanzo said, voice suffused with determination. He took a deep breath and gently pulled Jesse’s hand off the door and pulled it open. They were just in time – everyone in the room turned to look at them, some of the team didn’t meet Hanzo’s eyes – he gave them the cultivated Shimada mask they expected. Genji saddled up to the two of them, which didn’t really help, but it didn’t hurt as much either.

“You belong here, brother.” The cyborg growled. “I have forgiven you, they do not have the right.” Genji hissed.

“Later, brother.” Hanzo tried to calm his fuming sibling, even when the word ‘brother’ sat so heavy in his mouth he might choke – this was not the time.

“As you wish.” Genji acquiesced. “I shall sit with the two of you.” He determined, and without asking he sat down on the third chair in of the top row, looking at Hanzo and McCree expectantly – they complied. There had been enough scenes for one day.

Winston, bless him, appeared to not know of the tensions that had arisen within the group, or had decided to act completely unaffected despite it. He thumped onto the dais and immediately started up a slide show which included pictures of, the music of, and the biography of one Lucio Correia dos Santos – the next arriving member of Overwatch apparently. Winston congratulated D.Va., a friend of Lucio, for bringing him on board.

“We had a meetin’ like this on you too.” Jesse whispered in Hanzo’s one ear, which answered at least one of Hanzo’s unasked questions.

“It was very professional.” Genji whispered in Hanzo’s other ear – which answered another unasked question. Hanzo almost felt bad for having both his new acquaintance and his long-lost brother whisper things into his ears to calm him down, but he was also grateful – this entire day had been a trial for each and every nerve Hanzo possessed, and he felt frazzled. Luckily his Shimada face managed to hide everything including murder, bad decisions, hangovers, and most illnesses and infections. The power of maintaining face was strong.   

Hanzo counted to ten backwards as Winston extolled the virtues of the Vishkar fighting, musical, vigilante they were acquiring as a teammate – he would make it through this day, come hell or high water.


	5. Work-outs, worn-out, working out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo has another little self flagellation session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! My wrists, particularly my left, decided that giving the fuck up was an option, so I had to pull off computering for a few days to keep my wrists healthy enough to go to work. Fucking great. Tigerbalm and painkillers is godlike stuff. NOW The nursery rhyme that's going to pop up is in Japanese, but I have included the gist of it, and tbh it's just a convenient gateway to mommy issues because Hanzo has issues, and we're working through them. 
> 
> The poem, in English, is this:  
> A school of killifish* is in the little stream.  
> Watch the stream quietly,  
> Watch the stream quietly.  
> All of the killifish are playing happily.
> 
> I can put it up here because it doesn't really spoil shit, but I felt that putting it in in Japanese would do better. I found it on a nursery rhyme site, as I barely speak a lick of Japanese outside the usual, embarrassing, western weaboo phrases. 
> 
> Oh, and Genji + Jemoji's = absolute truth. Fight me.
> 
> Enjoy!

The meeting was, bless Winston, quick and painless. There was a general section on Lucio’s biography, his skills, his gripe with Vishkar, and then D.Va had a small section where she extolled her previous collaborations with the man, which, in her mind, proved that he was easy to work with, and that he had a good sense of humor, and eve better music. There were some questions, particularly from Mercy, as he had skills as an emergency medic and had developed his father’s sound technology further, after stealing it back from Vishkar. Hanzo had kept quiet – he thought that this Lucio fellow sounded quite upstanding, and even if his reception was probably going to be a lot friendlier than his own, he was going to do his absolute best to make Lucio feel welcomed, also, without getting in the way of his other teammates. Jesse and Genji had been playing a game of tic-tac-toe on their Athena devices from start to finish – either Winston was aware and ignored it, Athena didn’t tell him, or they were good actors. Hanzo went with the middle option. Even now Genji’s body language betrayed much, and outside of work, both him and Jesse were intensely expressive.

“That concludes the meeting, as you were.” Winston rumbled as D.Va stepped of the stage – out of the two of them, the Korean soldier had better public speaking skills, Hanzo thought. The archer nudged Jesse to get up, so they could slip out before the crowds, as the entire auditorium seemed to come alive at Winston’s words, the cowboy jumped up and got out of the way. Hanzo beelined it for the door and made it outside in seconds, he didn’t really pay attention to Jesse and Genji to see if they followed him – he wanted to get back into his room before anyone else could speak up about anything regarding his person.

“ _I could kick their asses._ ” Genji said in Japanese as he saddled up to his brother.

“ _What good would that do?_ ” Hanzo hissed back in the same language. “ _They have made up their minds, and as long as they perform satisfactory during missions their personal feelings do not matter._ ” The archer concluded, knowing, deep down, that he was lying his ass off, even if he still felt deserving of the treatment he was given. Genji made a disagreeing noise, but his reply was stopped by Jesse coming up on Hanzo’s other side.

“Y’all ‘re sure makin’ a fella feel left out.” He joked with a grin – Genji’s foot lashed out behind Hanzo as they moved forward, but Jesse dodged.

“I tried to teach you Japanese, _gaijin_ , but you suck.” Genji mocked from Hanzo’s other side. Gaijin meant foreigner.

“I think you are just as much _gaijin_ here as Jesse is.” Hanzo commented as they moved along.

“He can be ga-ja-what-now, too? I thought it was a term ‘o endearment?” Jesse looked quizzical. Hanzo sighed, rolled his eyes, and, on automatic, did something he hadn’t done in years; he slapped Genji upside the back of the head.

“Oww, anija! It was a joke.” Genji grumbled, like he wasn’t well over thirty, and Hanzo even more firmly in that boat. The move had something nagging at the back of Hanzo’s mind.

“Rude.” Hanzo hissed with the righteous fury of a scorned soccer-mom at a sub-par bake sale.

“Whassat mean, then?” Jesse chimed in from the other side.

“Foreigner.” Hanzo supplied, as Genji groaned pitifully at having his own internal joke exposed after so many years.

“I feel hurt ‘n betrayed” Jesse gasped with an overplayed expression, hand fisted in the front of his serape, as he pretended to swoon.

“You do you.” Genji said with a clap that ended with him holding his hands up like a Western-movie victim. The entire exchange would have been funny, but all Hanzo heard was the weird noise that came with two metal hands being clapped together – so different from the way a fleshy clap would sound, it was so wrong, the movement was right, the voice was right – it was Genji, his brother, but the sound of those two beautifully crafted, highly functional, artificial hands slapping together which made Hanzo want to crawl into a hole and stay there.

_For a brief second, he had forgotten._

_Forgotten entirely._

“I have not completed my daily work-out, please excuse me.” Hanzo bowed briefly to both his companions and sped off to his rooms to get away from the two as well as grab what he needed. He barely registered the awkward and shocked farewells that followed his departure. Hanzo berated himself all the way back – forgetting had been allowed, somewhat, briefly, when he had full days of helping Haruto out at the bar, or fleeing from unknown assailants, but now, during downtime, occupying the same base as his disfigured brother, the disfigurement Hanzo brought upon him, was unforgiveable. He was here because of Genji,  he was here _for_ Genji, laughing and joking were not part of a path of atonement. If anything, it spat upon his brother and everything he had stood for when the Shimada thumb had tried to squeeze his dear sweet Sparrow, an appropriate nickname given by their father, into the same mold they had easily poured Hanzo into.

The archer gathered his things on automatic, filled his water bottle, changed, grabbed his bow and quiver and took the least populated route through the base to reach the most remote training facility. He met no one, which was a relief.

Their mother was cruel and harsh, but she had taught her sons how to survive the clan, she hadn’t taught them to survive each other. Hanzo remembered one lesson very well – the actual marks had no meaning, they were deaths necessary for their own survival, for the money they brought in, for the silence they gave - to truly motivate oneself  one only had to imagine the person he hated the most as the target.

When Hanzo activated the training bots he saw himself, everywhere, and tearing through his own face was a relief.

He almost regretted that Genji had forgiven him – his brother was a much better man than any Shimada had ever given their Sparrow credit for, but him being a good man left Hanzo without an easy way out. Genji should have marked his brother like Hanzo had marked him – violently, permanently. Maybe Mercy would have the good grace to not fix Hanzo up with a prosthetic body and leave him to rot, just like he deserved. Just like he had left Genji.  

The archer climbed the walls with ease and hunted down his targets like a man possessed. Each robot that fell to his arrows bore the image of himself broken and bleeding before his mind’s eye. He saw himself in every corner, in every movement.

The archer didn’t stop for a drink, didn’t stop for anything, not his burning muscles, not his racing heart, not his aching stumps – nothing stopped him from the hunt.

His breathing was so loud in his own ears it almost drowned out the screeching noises of metal repairing itself as the robots re-assembled themselves, his heart beat was drumming in his ears like an erratic war-drum, confused to which battle it was to play for.

Hanzo had no idea how long he had been at it for, the meeting had ended rather quickly, and the low cast shadows across the room brought with them a vague sense of time, but the archer was beyond caring – he was pushing himself, so he could see his own bare bones, could see them break under the strain.

Eventually Hanzo wound up acknowledging how human he was, as he collapsed, knees hitting the ground and Athena stopping the training program, unbidden. The archer was heaving hands shaky and sweaty around the grip of the bow, the low afternoon sun spoke for itself and he mentally calculated the time he must have spent in here – it was too short, even if it had been intense, he was becoming weaker.

The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. The archer knew he wouldn’t be able to continue today, but he vowed to come back tomorrow, barring an extracurricular mission – he wasn’t scheduled for another one until the upcoming week. He needed to be better than this – he didn’t come here at his brother’s behest just to fail Genji again. Always a failure, never a victor. He couldn’t see the machinations of his family, he couldn’t see that killing his brother was wrong, he failed to completely exterminate the Shimada clan; Hanzo’s modus operandi was always failure, and not minor things that could be fixed with the wave of a hand – it was always major and irreversible. He got onto his wobbly feet, the uncomfortable feeling of sweat trailing into his prosthetic and gathering inside the cup was disgusting at best. He got a hold of his water bottle, which he had put over by the door, and resolved to get himself a bottle belt. Another shopping trip away from this place would do him well – he sighed; he was even failing at integrating himself on base.

What a joke – the greatest assassin and infiltrator the Shimada clan had ever produce couldn’t even convince a rag-tag bunch of vigilantes that he was worth something, anything. Worth enough to keep around.

He sighed, down the rest of his water, hoping to down his intrusive thoughts with it – alas he usually ended up with some good sake for that purpose. Drowning his sorrows was easy, drowning them in something that didn’t taste like something scraped out of a home-made distillery and ran through an oil filter was even easier – made him feel like a classy drunk instead of the actual wretch he’d become.

Hanzo grabbed his towel went over to Athena’s panel beside the door that lead into the communal showers attached to this training area and the adjacent one – there was one co-ed wardrobe per two practice fields according to Athena, who was gently explaining everything as he sluggishly placed his things down on a bench. Besides Jesse, the AI had been a life-saver; without her he would have had to ask other people about things, and while Tracer had been helpful, anyone else beyond the cowboy felt awkward to even look at – especially Genji. Jesse had been a life-saver too, but he had other things to worry about beyond guiding Hanzo’s sorry ass through the baby steps and tea-spoons he apparently required to navigate this hellish base.

Luckily the showers had built in benches so Hanzo could uncouple his legs and put them outside the stall, which would allow him to get at the sweat that had gathered around the couplings. The base also had, surprisingly, all purpose wash in dispenser in each stall, which was very considerate as Hanzo had forgotten to bring some when he grabbed his things.   

He was forgetting a lot of things – not becoming of someone with his training at all.

Hanzo felt that everything about himself was unbecoming these days, so it was indeed a part of the general pattern – however disgusting that pattern might be.

The archer managed to get his hair done quickly, despite its length – he had some leave in conditioner back in his quarters he’d eventually massage into the strands to prevent them from reverting to their natural, coarse and wiry state. He then moved down and managed to get at all of his body with the soap – it didn’t really have a scent, he thought Mercy might have had a hand in choosing it as it was most likely hypoallergenic. When he’d gotten himself scrubbed and the hot water had loosened his muscles to where he could just sit there and enjoy the feeling of the hot water beating down on his shoulders and upper back he decided that he wasn’t going to put his legs back on before he’d cleaned them out – he had, luckily, brought some antiseptic wipes, which were in his bag, which was not in the shower area. The archer realized that he would look like a right fool trying to get through the shower area and back to the benches without his legs, but the thought of putting those sweat greased legs back on after this heavenly shower was about as appealing as a frog splattered across a crusty cow-patty.

Hanzo decided to put his hard-earned “ninja skills” to use -  a term Genji had used often as they were growing up, the elders were not amused. Better that than asking for help – he would feel mortified beyond belief if he had to call in someone just because he was squeamish about his own sweaty prosthetics. But before he did anything he twisted his hair up to avoid the freshly washed goodness being dragged across the floor – having long hair was a hassle and a half, but Hanzo always hesitated when he thought about cutting it, he really liked the way it looked. The archer turned the shower off, grabbed his legs, clenched the calf portion of them between his thighs and flipped over on his hands, the pruned skin on his palms making it easier to keep a grip on the wet tiles. He managed to carefully maneuver his way through the shower area and managed to avoid the thought that his junk was flapping around oddly as he crab walked across the floor on his hands. Luckily no one else showed up, so he could heave himself onto the bench with his bag without any uncomfortable explanations.

 Imagine that: proud Hanzo; a brother killer, a disgraced mafia boss, a dead-shot, and squeamish laughing stock of Overwatch. The thought made Hanzo shudder, while he praised the remoteness of these training arenas.

The wipes were at the bottom of his bag, and he grabbed three of them out of the packet, one for his hands and one for each leg. They were the same brand as his cream. Washing and polishing the bits that didn’t touch his skin could wait until he was back in his quarters, right this moment he needed to get the cup and sensors sterilized and his own stumps moisturized.

Eventually everything was done, wiped, cleaned, slathered with cream, and all he had to do now was wait for the thick salve to sink into his skin, so his legs would attach properly. The wait was somewhat painful – his thoughts wandered.

  _Medaka no gakkou wa kawa no naka_

_Sotto nozoite mitegoran_

_Sotto nozoite mitegoran_

_Minna de oyuugi shiteiruyo_

The old nursery school rhyme snuck, unbidden, and unwanted, into Hanzo’s thought stream – it was about a school of killifish swimming in the stream, and how one should watch the stream quietly to see them playing happily. The song was a regular nursery rhyme, often sang by Japanese children, but when Hanzo’s mother had gotten her twisted, lethal, hands on it, she had turned into a metaphor for the clan. Hanzo and Genji were the little kill fish, and the clan would always watch them, and see how they played. And eventually the clan had played them both – and Hanzo had let them. He hated his mother more than he hated anyone else, even himself. Soft, deceptive hands, fake, painted-red smile, cold, calculating eyes – Hanzo hated her, and her memory, because he reflected her so well.

The chime of his Athena device pulled his thoughts out of their downward spiral.

_Genji: Was your work-out all right?_ _ヾ_ _(_ _☆▽☆_ _)_

Hanzo snorted, his brother never grew out of his Jemoticon phase – even now, after everything, he tacked them onto his messages, just like he did before, well, _everything_. Hanzo quickly typed out a positive reply, without the addition of a Jemoticon because the archer enjoyed acting his age – he’d earned getting this old, just as much as he had earned this journey of penance. He earned every breath by taking down every assassin sent after him, and by dismantling his clan as much as he could – and now every earned breath was spent on the winding road of redemption. It was an undeserved path, but his brother insisted, and, for once, Hanzo could do nothing but let Genji have his way. It was rightly deserved.    

His stumps had absorbed the lotion, and he was prepared to put his clothes back on and get back to his room. The standard Overwatch track suit would work well for the trip – he was going to remove it and go to bed as soon as he could, anyway. He pulled on the black jumper, which had a small Overwatch logo on the left breast, and it fit him well across the shoulders despite being a bit baggy elsewhere – the arms were long enough too. The pants were a bit big, but they had a draw string, and he could fold up the legs until he had the time to modify them. Winston was right – he was indeed a large. The monkey had a good eye. The archer wondered briefly if it was rude to call an accomplished scientist a monkey, or a primate, which was more correct – after all, Winston was a regular primate in the same universe where Hanzo was a good brother.

He gathered his things, clamped his prosthetics back on – the clean feeling was glorious – and walked out of the wardrobe.  

Tomorrow, Hanzo promised himself, tomorrow he would do better, he would be better – he would be the machine his brother needed him to be, the machine Overwatch needed him to be. He would slay their enemies without remorse, and he would work his body to the bone – Genji deserved his best. He would also try his best to avoid conflict with any of the team members – no matter how rude or derogatory they might become, he would always take the higher road. He refused to allow Genji the opportunity that he had, inadvertently, given Jesse: his brother would not risk his social clout to defend Hanzo’s honor. The archer had no honor left to defend. He rounded the corner to the hallway that led to his quarters when a disturbingly familiar voice made Hanzo jump.

“Hi there, darlin’” Hanzo swore internally; Jesse had to have a tracker installed on his person somewhere, the cowboy had a habit of cropping up wherever Hanzo might be.

“Hello, Jesse.” Hanzo answered politely.

“Ya lookin’ surprised. Ya do know I live down the hall, yeah?” Jesse said with a teasing grin, and Hanzo immediately felt like an idiot; of course, Jesse wasn’t here for him, why would he be.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Hanzo lied pitifully, desperately hoping the gunslinger wouldn’t pick up on it.

“We’re gonna get more people on base, soon, ya might not get as much peace as yer used to.” Jesse advised, his tone had softened, and he had an odd expression on his face – not a hostile one.

“I will overcome.” The archer tried to sound confident.

“Yeah, you’ll do great, darlin’, but there ain’t no shame in takin’ a time out.” Jesse offered with a shrug.

“I do not need special considerations.” Hanzo hissed defensively. Which made Jesse sigh and drag his hand down his face in a despondent manner.

“Seriously, sweet-pea?” He almost sounded tired.

“What?” Hanzo lost the defensive edge in his tone.

“I basically hugged ya calm there fer a second, ya don’t get to put up that ice-wall with me.” Jesse proclaimed. Hanzo all of a sudden realized why the cowboy aesthetic worked so well for the other man; the look Jesse was giving him right now made him feel like he was in the middle of a high-noon showdown.

“But-” Hanzo tried, because he had vowed to not be weak.

“Lemmie guess, honey, ya started tellin’ yerself some shit about bein’ strong an not bein’ a burden and all ‘a that crap, right?” Jesse summed up Hanzo’s earlier thoughts too easily. The archer was tempted to see if he could wipe that infuriating smirk that had begun to bloom off Jesse’s face.

He opened his mouth to reply but Jesse held up a hand.

“Nope, sorry doll, that ain’t gonna fly,” Jesse took a shell shocked Hanzo gently by the arm and guided him into the archer’s quarters and sat him down before Hanzo even began to consider protesting.

“I’ll make us some damn tea, doll, we’re drinkin’ it, and yer gonna tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ head o yers.” Jesse sounded awfully determined, and Hanzo felt his earlier resolve crumble. Tea sounded nice. And even if part of him was screaming that he was a weak, useless, freak that couldn’t even deal with his own problems, Hanzo decided to accept the forcibly presented offer.

“All right.” The archer conceded. The soft smile Jesse gave him as he pulled out the kettle and tea bags made it almost worth it.


	6. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Hanzo's preparing for the mission, and there's Hana, a plushie, Jesse, and more tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter is filler chapter. So. I have no idea what would be good to bring on a mission, none what so ever. Please don't roast my real life skills. My dream job is being a pampered pillow princess, and I'm an academic with a part time job at a grocery store, so this entire "I need to survive and pack for survival" is not a thing I do... I pack for comfort and as such I always pack too much. Blankets, teddy bears, pillows, extra sets of clothing, god knows, I have packed some really heavy loads. Hanzo is basically NOT me - we're just as socially anxious, but he doesn't let his stuff determine his comfort. I do. So much. Also: YAY I am hinting at Hana struggling because everyone on the Overwatch team has something, and I am totally down for this becoming a team wide angst/fluff fest eventually. Also, I have some wrenches to throw, eventually. And Jesse is being a know-it all and Hanzo seeeecretly likes it because ahahaha... chunky cowboy hotness being a caring bastard is hawt af. 
> 
> ALSO: Sorry about the update being laaateeeee... I suck at consistency and I've had to make some hard choices on what to spend my energy on, and, sadly, reading fanfiction takes less energy than writing it when it comes to hobby pursuits. I am planning on doing kinktober and inktober buuuut I might not make it as I feel really wrung out, but I'll try. My readers are the best - so sweet, so patient, and so amazing.

They days on the base passed quickly, and soon Hanzo’s next mission was due: it was in Dorado, Mexico. Helix security had contacted Winston on the down-low and asked for assistance in moving a payload through the city – a festival in another part of town would keep most passers-by clear of the chosen route, yet Helix deemed in necessary to provide extra security. Faheera, codename Pharah, had told Winston that Helix was already stretched thin – an allowance made only because she had grown up around Overwatch agents as her late mother had been one. That information put Hanzo on edge: what was so important that Helix needed the payload, which was a shipment of tech, moved before their own organization had even gathered the resources to do so. If Hanzo had gotten a message such as that from an ally back when he headed the Shimada forces he would have smelled trap; yet Helix was an accredited security organization on board with UN regulations, why would they set a trap for Overwatch. The personal connection Faheera had with some of the Overwatch agents was also another factor to consider.

Lucio Correia dos Santos had also shown up on base – vibrant and strong in his personality. He had greeted Hanzo well, and the archer had returned the favor; he would be accompanying them on the mission as a combat medic, Mercy was still on lockdown as her duties extended far beyond the odd mission she would receive, and she needed rest.  It seemed no one had told Lucio about Hanzo’s past deeds, which suited the archer somewhat: he didn’t want to deceive the new addition to their team, yet it was nice to be looked at without those glances that kept being thrown his way by a lot of the older Overwatch members.

Currently Hanzo was double checking his gear and padding his prosthetics for long wear – usually he would avoid it as it made his skin sweaty and the pads easily gathered bacteria, but as it was a two-day mission he could manage without too much of a fuss, he would have another five days off, at least, barring any emergencies. The other agents that would be a part of the team were D. Va, as her mech would be excellent for moveable, durable fire-power, Jesse, or McCree as he would be called during a mission, as a decent flanker alongside Tracer, with Torbjörn as turret-support and Reinhardt as a main tank because of his portable barrier shield.

The first mission he was on was a simple twelve hours, there packing hadn’t been a question. Three hours each way in flight, and six hours guarding a temple in a hot desert while Winston dug out whatever he needed there before returning home. Hanzo had gotten sixteen head-shots when enemy agents had encroached upon their dig-site. Hanzo’s belt pouches would contain his bare necessities, and his flask would be filled with cold green tea before departure, his quiver would be strapped onto his back and his bow would be the same. Bringing any more items might make it difficult to move quickly. He looked over the things that were spread out over his desk: a multi tool, four bags of tea, eight ration bars, water purification tablets, a twisted length of chord, lock-picking sets, chap-stick, spare hair ties, two biotic healing injections Mercy handed out to them, some disinfecting cream and wipes for his stumps, a tightly folded thermal blanket, and basic pain-killers. That would last one for two days, wouldn’t it? Clothes and other luxuries would hamper him by weight and bulk, and he could just shower and change when he returned home. He glanced over the items again. He felt like he was missing something. Before Hanzo joined Overwatch, he’d always carried his belongings with him, in case any current abodes were compromised, yet he would feel foolish for showing up at a two-day mission with an entire sack of unneeded things – and his flanking position on the team would make the extra bulk inadvisable.

Hanzo decided to leave the things out and go find Jesse – he’d done this sort of thing more often. He would also know what was specifically needed for Mexico, as the last time Hanzo had been there he had travelled as a part of the Shimada delegation there to negotiate a deal with the cartels that remained after the Omnic Crisis – that, of course, meant living in the lap of luxury. He was certain this mission would have none of that. He picked up his Athena device and sent Jesse a message – he would get around to it when he had time.

Hanzo was about to make himself a cup of tea when a knock sounded at the door – not the heavy pounding that Jesse usually announced his arrival with, it was lighter, more rapid.

“Hello?” Hanzo called, hands stalling above the electric kettle.

“Hi! It’s Hana!” It took three seconds for Hanzo’s brain to connect the name Hana with the code-name D. Va. He opened the door.

“Hello, Song-san.” Her full name was Hana Song, and Hanzo hadn’t had much interaction with her, so he defaulted to the ingrained politeness he’d been taught growing up.

“I said my name’s Hana.” She giggled. She then did something completely unexpected; she shoved a Pachimari plushie into Hanzo’s chest and grinned at him. “Welcome to Overwatch!” was the follow-up. Hanzo brought his hands up and held the plushie, unsure what he was to do.

“Thank you?” He said, uncertainly.

“You’re welcome!” She chirped, she then switched over to flawless Japanese _, “I thought it might be easier on us if I switched to Japanese, it’s my second language, you know, anyway – I ordered a bunch of Pachimaru for my subscribers but one batch had odd stitching, if you look at the eyes, and I’m handing them out to all the agents to give them a forever home so they won’t get thrown away, I’ll just order another batch for my gremlins.”_ Hana smiled and did a polite bow, which Hanzo returned.

 _“Arigatou.”_ He said, still deeply uncertain about the entire situation. He also wondered about who the gremlins were.

 _“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to catch up with you until now,”_ She continued _“I’ve been streaming a lot to drum up some funds for Overwatch.”_ She did a victory hand sign next to her face. The implication wasn’t lost on Hanzo; she had possibly drummed up the funds that had afforded him some of the amenities here.

“ _Otsukaresama desu!_ ” Hanzo said with another bow, still holding the plushie. _Thank you for your hard work_. She giggled and did a very bad curtesy before twirling around. Hanzo knew she had been a soldier in the Korean forces – her gaming skills lent themselves well to piloting her mech. She seemed almost too cheerful, despite her being nineteen, and Hanzo smelled something off; few who had fought in the Omnic Crisis came out unscarred.

 _“Would you like some tea?”_ He offered, gently. Maybe some green tea would settle her.

 _“Oh, that would be wonderful – all I’ve had today is_ Mountain Dew.” The English brand name sounded weird in conjunction with the Japanese, but Hanzo still knew what it was – some vile sugary drink that was possibly lethal in larger doses.

 _“Please, come in. Do not mind the mess, I am packing for our mission tomorrow.”_ Hanzo explained the things that were neatly organized on his desk. He put the Pachimaru down on the foot of his bed for lack of places to put it, as it would seem rude to shove it inside his closet while Hana was still here.

 _“I did that last night after I streamed.”_ Hana commented as she sat down on his desk chair, a chair which Jesse usually occupied. Hanzo reached around her to grab the kettle so he could fill it, and he found the two mugs he’d collected, both the _sarcastic_ porcelain one and the _vodka_ thermos one, as he didn’t have any other options beyond Jesses horror mug and inflicting that on people did not friends make. He put tea bags in them both and sat down on his bed and waited for the water to boil.

 _“When did you end stream? I did not hear a thing.”_ Hanzo asked – it was true, the base had been very quiet, and as he had watched a lot of streams in his youth, he knew how loud streamers could be.

 _“Around four a.m.,”_ Hana answered dutifully, _“I have my streaming set-up in my mech garage, it’s sound-proof and easily secured.”_ Which explained everything, the labs, garages, and work-shops were on the opposite side of the base. Hanzo also did some mental math and figured out that Hana, if she was up now, had barely gotten three hours of sleep. If she had ended stream at four a.m. and packed after, something that could take up to an hour, she couldn’t have gone down before five, and it was a little past eight now - the girl should have been passed out in her bed. Hanzo felt his big-brother mode come online full force, yet he refrained from nagging her; the feeling was too foreign after years without Genji, and she was a legal adult with no familial ties to the archer – she could make her own decisions, even if Hanzo disliked it.

 _“Does the garage offer a comfortable streaming experience?”_ Hanzo decided to further the conversation as the water bubbled happily in the kettle – he reached over and grabbed it, so he could fill the cups.

 _“It does.”_ Hana confirmed, _“The acoustics are a bit off, but the mech offers a good background.”_ She said with a smile – Hanzo realized that it didn’t quite reach her eyes; he didn’t know exactly what to say. He took the tea bags out of the mugs, as they had finished steeping, and motioned for Hana to grab whichever one she wanted - she went for the stainless steel one. He grabbed the remaining mug and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to the Pachimari. 

 _“Tea is always a great way to start the day.”_ Hanzo said in a way he hoped came off as calm. He wasn’t sure why Song had come to him with a Pachimari – maybe she had run out of willing forever homes – either way, an offering of tea was probably the safest bet.

 _“I don’t drink much tea, I need bigger caffeine boosts to keep up with my schedule – it’s really nice to have some for a change.”_ Hana revealed.

 _“You stream a lot then?”_ Hanzo enquired as he sipped his hot beverage. Tea had a much gentler, yet long-lasting boost, Hanzo found. He suspected that Song might need stronger stuff to cope with lack of sleep.

 _“I always stream our mission battles, if they are slow I’ll put a break-screen on. Otherwise I’ll always fire up a game or three for about six to eight hours when off mission.”_ Han replied: she took a deep gulp from the cup, seemingly unawares of the heat. Hanzo eyed her critically; she seemed a bit out there despite her cheery tone and six to eight hours alongside the mandatory training time, team meetings, and other things that had to be done was a lot. Hanzo was about to find another question to keep the conversation when a saving grace came with the sound of jingling spurs.

“Howdy there, darlin’,” Jesse stuck his head in the door and tipped his hat “Or, darlins,” he amended when he saw Hana sitting on the desk chair. “Ya sendt me a message, Han, what’s up?”

“I am uncertain of what I need to bring for the mission.” Hanzo replied. Hana looked between them, something undecipherable settling across her face.

“I usually stick with whatever can be fitted down into a fanny pack.” Jesse said while he scratched the back of his head.

“A fanny-pack?” Hana giggled as she clutched at her teacup with both hands.

“Well, we ain’t all got no mech we can shove full ‘a shit” Jesse countered with a teasing smile – something Hanzo had come to expect. The cowboy seemed to have a good rapport with all the team members, even after the unfortunate incident in the kitchen the other day.

“I play to win.” Hana sassed as she crossed her legs daintily and exaggeratedly flipped her hair in Jesses direction.

“Don’t you sass me, gremlin.” Jesse grumbled good naturedly. “Ya got more hot water?” Jesse directed the question at Hanzo.

“Yes.” Hanzo moved to get up but Jesse held up a hand.

“I still got my cup in here somewhere, I’ll handle it.” The cowboy said. Hanzo resolutely ignored Hana’s knowing glances as Jesse rummaged around for his abomination of a cup so he could make himself some tea as well. As Jesse’s usual spot beside the desk was occupied by Hana, he sat down next to Hanzo when his tea finished.

“So, what’cha got?” Jesse said, sipping his tea. Hanzo gestured to his assembled kit thus far.

“This – I am not sure, however, if it is a suitable kit for our mission.” Hanzo admitted.

“Is that a thermal blanket?” Jesse asked with an impressed tone. Hana made a curious noise as she hadn’t really studied Hanzo’s load-out.

“Yes, it can be used for both reflecting and containing heat.” Hanzo tried his best not to sound self-conscious.

“I like it!” Hana chimed in as she flipped her chair around to study Hanzo’s loadout.

“I do too.” Jesse concurred. “The tea-bags?” The cowboy moved on.

“For either a possibility of hot water, and a good drink, or with cold water as a wrap to prevent infection.” It was a trick his mother had taught him as a saving grace for mild infections, so it wouldn’t get worse as he got to safety and could treat it properly. All three of them went through his load-out as they finished their tea, and the two others approved heartily. Hana even left to pack her own, similar, loadout on the off chance she needed to exit her mech under less ideal circumstances. She thanked Hanzo for the tea and sped towards the garage. After the bubbly girl left, Jesse explained that Hana’s version of ‘less than ideal circumstances’ was her hitting the self-destruct button, and Hanzo’s big brother mode became almost unbearable.

“Yeah, I know.” Jesse said with a sigh, which made Hanzo look at him questioningly. “For ‘n assassin ya sure telegraph your emotions a lot.” Jesse chuckled, and Hanzo struggled not to be offended. “She’s… she’s not doin’ too hot, but we need her, and she’s still doin’ hot enough to where Angela feels she can’t get involved on a professional level.”

“I did not mean to be disrespectful.” Hanzo finally got out, not sure exactly where this conversation was headed.

“You weren’t. Ya got a mile-wide caring streak, n’ yer tryin’ ta hide it.” Jesse had a touch of scolding in his tone which made Hanzo look away, resolutely. Even if Jesse seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, Hanzo refused to admit it. “And yer load-out is light, but fine.” Jesse transitioned, somewhat abruptly, “Might wanna add some sun-screen but beyond that yer golden”.  

“Thank you.” Hanzo said, gulping down the last of his tea.

“Yer allowed to care, you know.” Jesse said, before sipping his tea – the symbolic action wasn’t lost on Hanzo, but he refused to rise to Jesse’s bait. “And no, I ain’t baitin’ ya, I’m just makin’ a statement.” The cowboy said, taking another sip.

“You are terribly observant.” Hanzo grumbled as he clutched at his tea-cup.

“Only if the target is worth it.” Jesse hummed. Hanzo tried to avoid the heat that was rising to his cheeks – the team would be leaving in an hour and he needed to get his game face on.


	7. The Mission to Dorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission to Dorado, not much else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written a battle scene before, and I have never written a group battle scene before, so I am hoping that I can swim, and that I'm not sinking, to be honest, despite it being short, this chapter was absolute hell to write.

 

The mission had started so well - so well, in fact, that Hanzo felt his gut clench. After all the stink Helix corporation raised about getting the cargo up and going before they, themselves, had scrambled for enough man-power to complete the job was odd. The second the team hit the ground in what looked like a church or monastery court-yard they had scrambled out the front door of the building where the payload would be waiting on an old truck – they had timed it so that the few Helix operatives that had protected the payload under cover could load the truck as the team landed, and the show could get on the road, literally, the second Overwatch arrived. As D. Va took point, Hanzo noted the bags under her eyes. Reinhardt moved to be in front of the payload with his shield generating hammer, Torbjörn, who had barely spoken to Hanzo since the incident in the kitchen, planted a turret atop the truck, while Tracer acted as if she could blink away from the awkward tension between the two of them. Jesse motioned for Hanzo to get somewhere hidden and cover the team as they moved, while Jesse and Tracer flanked the truck.

Overwatch moved as one and Hanzo cursed the cloying heat of this place – Mexico had many beautiful sceneries, gorgeous valleys and a fantastic culture, and here he was, trying to scout out a decent sniper’s nest, which was difficult, while praying his sweat didn’t stain his clothes.

It was quiet, and the reason for the cliché, Hanzo thought, was absolutely justified. As the truck, protected by Reinhardt and D. Va, moved through the colorful, streets there were remnants of a great celebration, it seemed, Hanzo felt like the teams were being watched. Streamers littered the ground as well as fliers, booths were put up, and decorations were still in the plaza they crossed, alongside a beautiful fountain, which Hanzo had an inexplicable urge to climb, just for show. He ended up running up to the door and hiding behind a house corner with a notched arrow. That urge had nothing to do with a certain cowboy being on the mission, and even if it did, Hanzo was a master of self-control. As the team reached the ancient double doors, which were probably closed to limit traffic to the event that had been, Hanzo swore he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye. He flicked his eyes around to catch another glimpse, and suddenly saw a black clad figure sneak up behind the group. No recognizable markings, gear anonymous and face covered.

“INCOMING, seven o’clock!” Hanzo shouted as he let an arrow fly – it struck the assailant through the skull, dropping them like a sack – before they could fire the gun they had pointed at the team. D. Va spun on a dime, as Reinhardt summoned his shield, McCree rolled under the truck to join Tracer on the protected side of the payload as the huge doors slowly opened. A mass of black-clad operatives poured out from the right-hand buildings and Hanzo fired off a set of rapid bolts into the fray, dropping a number of them, as McCree and Tracer let loose with their respective weapons. Reinhardt moved to intercept with his shield, but a desperate cry from D. Va shifted their attention.

“They’re on the other side of the door, too!” She had her defense matrix up and running as she fired a volley of rockets from her mech into the fray bearing down on her from the other side of the door. Screams of blown up and burning operatives filled the air, and the scent of burning flesh was overpowering.

“Get the payload moving, our defense positioning is shit!” Torbjörn accented voice sounded over the fray, as he desperately fought to keep his turret from collapsing.

Hanzo split off from the group to flank the invaders from the back and got down a good ten of them before the others noticed, and as they turned to deal with Hanzo, Tracer and McCree gunned them down with ruthless efficiency. The three of them nodded and moved to help D.va, who was doing admirable in keeping the front forces at bay. Torbjörn’s turret had flipped targets, and with D. Va, and an approaching Reinhardt, taking the heat, Torbjörn had an opportunity to load his shotgun and mow down the opposition alongside the rest of his team.  The payload slid through the gaping doors as the last of the front attackers fell, and the team was back on alert, as they stepped over the fallen bodies of their enemies.

D.Va scouted ahead on the bend, as Tracer blinked into the various blind spots to check for more assailants, Hanzo skulked from corner to corner to find a proper sniper’s nest to cover their progress down the road, but it was a difficult set up, and he settled for weaving in between the other members of the team as a moving target. As they hit another bend, the GPS said they were halfway to the pick-up point, and he scouted ahead with D.va as Tracer kept watch of the back. Torbjörn kept watch atop the payload while McCree remained at its side, Reinhardt shielding the front of it.

As the team reached the main gates of the building where Helix was supposed to arrange the pick-up, the entirety of the team breathed a sigh of relief – until the doors parted and a wave of operatives flooded out. D’ Va activated her defense matrix and fired another volley of rockets into the fray as Reinhardt shielded the main group as they gunned down their enemies. Hanzo fired a rapid volley of arrows and downed quite a few, side by side with McCree, who shot down six, re-loaded, and shot-down six as if on autopilot. Tracer was blinking in and out of the mass of operatives, creating chaos. Torbjörn was cackling as he mowed down person after person and his autotargeted enemy after enemy.

Reinhardt’s shield failed.

“Shield down!” The great German crusader shouted desperately as he swung his hammer while it’s shields re-generated – he bowled through the closest cluster of operatives, the sickening crunch of bone hailing his progress. Torbjörn rolled off the payload and used it for partial cover, Hanzo jumped sideways to avoid a rain of bullets. An unfamiliar scream of pain caught Hanzo’s attention, and as he saw McCree take a knee and roll, sluggishly, under the moving payload, to safety, his distraction allowed two stray bullets to obliterate Hanzo’s left prosthetic, and a third to graze his left shoulder.

“McCree is down!” Hanzo shouted as he rolled to safety. He clutched his bow and a single arrow in his right hand, as he, shakily, fumbled with his wounded left into his pack to grab at his biotic healing injectors. Torbjörn provided cover for their fallen team-mate, and Reinhard’s shield had regenerated. D. Va moved behind Reinhardt for a quick break as she kept firing her primary weapons into the fray – Tracer kept the heat of Hanzo, as he scrambled behind the payload, which was slowly hovering over Jesse, who still hadn’t moved.

“McCree, status!” Hanzo barked as they were both under cover from the payload. It felt weird to use his codename, even if it was his last name.

“Bullet through left thigh, exit wound large!” McCree howled – he was grasping at this thigh, Peacekeeper, his revolver, lying beside him.

“I have a biotic healer, hang on!” Hanzo shouted as he uncapped the needle of the healer and managed to get close enough to McCree to jab it into his thigh – it wasn’t a permanent solution, but it kept Jesse’s blood inside his body and allowed his muscles semi normal function until he could get to a medic – they had a three hour count down until Jesse’s wound needed to be cleaned and bandaged.

“Helix is here!” D.Va shouted as two members of the recognizable Helix Air Force, Pharah at the head, flanked the remaining operatives and blew them to smithereens. Having rocket launchers installed in your armor was mighty handy sometimes, and Hanzo would have admired the carnage if he weren’t so busy trying to tend to Jesse who looked remarkably well for having been shot and then shot up with bio-healers.

“Clear! Package received!” Pharah shouted as she landed, a helmet-wearing subordinate following her lead. She seemed to recognize Tracer, Torbjörn, and Reinhardt, and nodded to them, but her cat-eyed eyes widened when she saw the prone form of Jesse McCree.

“McCree!” She shouted as she ran over to him. Her armor clanked as she moved – her subordinate stayed put. Hanzo was already busy checking McCree over for any more damage and assessing his capabilities to get onto an eventual drop-ship under his own power.

“Hi there, lil’ one,” Jesse said with a tired smile. Hanzo watched in fascination how the cowboy’s brown eyes visibly softened – the cowboy hadn’t said a thing about knowing Pharah that well, and Hanzo was interested in seeing what exactly their relationship was; purely out of neighborly curiosity. “God ya look like ‘yer mama.” He continued and Faheera flinched, visibly, as did Reinhardt – Hanzo had no clue what just happened, but it sounded like something he’d have to dig at later… Tracer blinked closer to them and stared at Faheera with a great smile on her face.

“Well, you don’t, asshole.” She bit out as she muscled in on Hanzo’s space and helped Jesse to his feet. Torbjörn cackled at that and threw the two of them a thumbs up. Hanzo’s mid was reeling with the familial implications and started doing some mental mathematics and came up short.

“Sorry, pumkin’.” Jesse winced as he was hoisted into his good leg.

“You’re defective, you better be.” Faheera chuckled, her voice less sharp. “I never thought I’d see the day you would admit to being accident prone and start bringing biotic healers.”

“I would never!” Jesse joked as the rest of the team converged on them. Hanzo took Jesse’s other arm and alongside Faheera kept the cowboy from toppling over. “Hanzo here’s the doomsday prepper.” He motioned to the archer, who was helping him stand. Faheera straightened up and looked across Jesse to catch Hanzo’s gaze.

“Thank you. Jesse is like a defective older brother, but I would miss him if he were gone.” She said and Hanzo gave a small bow, without jostling Jesse too much. Hanzo breathed an internal sight of relief when it was implied that Faheera wasn’t Jesse’s daughter, and he was completely unwilling to examine why. Even Torbjörn sent Hanzo a grateful look, which he saw was echoed in the rest of their team mates as well. The lack of a combat medic on this mission had been a point of contention, but Mercy was their only option and she had an overwhelming set of duties.

Hanzo stumbled a bit under the metaphysical weight of the combined appreciative gazes, something he thought he would never feel again, and the physical weight of a cowboy which drew attention to his left prosthetic, which was sparking, and sending warning signals up the connected thigh. Tracer blinked over and gently pushed Hanzo out from under McCree’s arm and took his place.

“You’ve got some scratches n’ bangs, luv, don’t sweat it!” Hanzo would normally have protested and felt like Tracer was pitying him, but she had such a gentle, genuine smile on her face that the archer bowed out gracefully. In a surprise turn of events Torbjörn came over and helped Hanzo with his balance. Nothing was said between the two. D. Va caught Hanzo’s eyes and gave a small but genuine thumbs up.

“Come, Helix will get you to an appropriate pick-up site.” Faheera motioned to her subordinate, who saluted and called for a helix carrier, which kicked the team into motion. Hanzo overhead Faheera explaining to Reinhardt why they only had two operatives to spare for the pick up; apparently a new, hitherto unnamed, threat had become a blip on Helix’s radar and they were fortifying their defenses in case something were to go pear-shaped.

The archer would have continued to ruminate on the problem, as he had heard of something new that was moving through the underworld before he joined up with Overwatch, but with his limited contact network information was scarce, but a horrible shout from Tracer snapped him out of it.

“Jesse!” She was struggling under the weight of a now limp cowboy, who seemed to have passed out. Hanzo felt the world spin as he tried to get over to Faheera and Tracer with the intention of helping them, but as he spun on a dime his left leg finally gave up, and with a sickening screech of metal, he went down, eyes fixed on Tracer, Jesse, and Faheera. The Helix soldier was barking orders into a com and only a few seconds later, Hanzo could hear the familiar sounds of a carrier in the distance – he felt stupid as he breathed in sand and dust, and he must have hit something, because his entire body hurt, and he was almost expecting to lie there until the carrier landed, but an unexpected hand came into view; Torbjörn’s.

“Let us get you up,” The swede had a strained smile on his face, but Hanzo took the offering; he would be no good to anyone lying in a puddle of dust and pity – hopefully the carrier had medical supplies.


	8. Med-bay maudlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting darker - and both Hanzo and Jesse are hoping there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even if neither of them believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I am going to have to edit some tags, because apparently there is mentions of drug usage and alcoholism now - yay me. Way to go. This was going to be hurt comfort but it is heading straight down to angst territory, like, for real. I am so sorry. This is going to make someone cry. Probably me.

It had been three days since the Dorado mission. Hanzo had worked himself into three separate strops on Jesse’s behalf, trying and failing (judging by the little treats Genji kept leaving outside his door) to hide them, and avoiding the med-bay, as well as everyone else, like the plague. Except for the short visit he needed to treat his injuries and get his legs fixed. Luckily, he’d discovered that crawling through the air-ducts on the base wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as talking to some of the team members, so he managed to get around unseen, unheard, and still managed to train, eat, and pilfer tea out of the common cabinet out of the kitchen. He’d been stress drinking tea to the point of stock-depletion and extreme bladder protest. Hanzo was happily minding his own business, thank you very much, and there was no way his recent bout of insomnia had anything to do with a cowboy that was laid up in an infirmary two wings away. Absolutely no way.

“Niisan.” Genji’s tinny voice sounded through his door, and Hanzo resolutely ignored it. “Niisan, you can come out.” Genji tried again, he sounded hesitant almost. They both waited, in silence, Hanzo staring at his walls, while Genji probably staring at the outside of his door. Hanzo wasn’t prepared to deal with his guilt over Jesse and his guilt and whatever guilt Genji’s appearance would dredge up in the same go; he was frazzled enough already and refused to be seen as such.

“I left you some snacks, Niisan.” Genji finally sighed, and Hanzo listened for the metallic footsteps to fade before scrambling out of bed to see what his younger brother had left him this time. He always assumed that Genji scouted him out and saw the offerings being accepted but had enough memory of Hanzo’s moods to where he didn’t push further. Even as a child Hanzo had been volatile when pushed.

It was peanut butter mochi this time – Hanzo smiled. Genji remembered. He grabbed the treats and scurried back inside like a swift shadow, locked the door and did a goblin hobble over to his bed, crouched protectively over his delicious treats. He felt justified; sneaking into the kitchen again seemed to be way too much trouble, and despite his complete avoidance of his brother, he was still grateful. He sent a quick ‘thank you’ through Athena, and, for once, got a short reply without a smattering of emoticons turning his screen into a miniature light-show.  Of course, sending that message had been a thrice-damned mistake; he noticed that someone else had sent him a message: Jesse.

‘Hey, can you grab my sock and a hair-tie? I added you to my access list. Everything is in the desk drawer’  

And of course, it wasn’t a request Hanzo could deny, and he also realized that plopping in through the med-bay through the air vents would raise questions he’d rather not answer, so he ate the rest of his mochi, because his sweet tooth was larger than most, and gathered his wits enough to face the outside. He was already dressed, and his legs snapped on without too much fuss – he’d cleaned them twice since he returned for lack of activity. He knew where McCree’s quarters were, but had never been inside, as Jesse had always come to his quarters, and when he stepped inside by leave of Athena, he wondered why – it seemed Jesse was as cleanly as Hanzo himself was, it spoke of a man with the philosophy “a place for everything, and everything in it’s place” judging by the frankly obscene amounts of printed labels everywhere.

As Jesse had said, the sock and hair ties were in his drawer, which was, again, clearly labelled. He reached down to grab the worn material and a tie, yet his hand stopped for a second; on top of the pile of hair ties, stored in a nice little basket, was the one he’d lent Jesse, yet under it were a stack of top-of-the-line everlasting ones from FG, which were only sold in specific retailers in certain cities – most certainly not in a mart where Hanzo had snagged his.

“It seems you got your in, cowboy, I hope you know what you want to do with it.” Hanzo smiled as he ran a finger over the ties – he grabbed the cheap tie and one of the FG ones, just to see what Jesse would say. Hanzo was leaning towards the opinion that it was sweet that the cowboy had faked needing a hair-tie to come speak to him.

He left everything else where it was, the labels spoke for themselves and Hanzo had no wish to contradict them. He then scurried out of the room, had Athena lock it down, and headed towards the med-bay, nervous about seeing Jesse, yet even more nervous about encountering Mercy, or Angela as her friends called her. He walked swiftly, with silent steps, and hoped that people were too busy with things to be roaming the halls. Honestly, he really didn’t feel like having a conversation about how he must have messed up that biotic injection on purpose or something like that, people would probably think of something, despite Torbjörn’s helping hand – which was why he was hoping Mercy was out as well.

No such luck.

The medic turned around and greeted Hanzo the second he stepped through the doors of the med-bay, and Hanzo felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach, especially when Mercy smiled.

“There you are, I am glad you’re out and about.” She said, which was odd coming from her. “I hve heard you have been scarce around the base,” she commented, because of course the reject Shimada assassin and his comings and goings would be subject to gossip.

“I needed to center myself.” Hanzo replied cordially, and hoped it seemed mysterious enough for her western sensibilities to where she would write it off as an eastern philosophy thing without jumping to conclusions about Hanzo’s mental health.

“I am glad you are here now.” She said, with an unexpected smile – she’d taken the bait. “I wanted to thank you for saving our resident danger magnet – that bio injection saved his life, and if the idiot had not put so much weight on it when he stood up, it would have held.” Mercy continued while she scribbled something down on a pad, which she had grabbed off the counter to the left. The cold ball in the pit of Hanzo’s stomach dissipated, but he refused to show relief.

“It was nothing.” Hanzo put forth in his best Shimada impression.

“If you say so.” Mercy twittered. “Jesse is in bay four.” She pointed to the row of single patient bed bays before turning back to her work. Hanzo assumed that she’d seen the items Hanzo had brought along, but he realized that he hadn’t shown them to her, and they were bundled up in his right hand; why would she assume he was here for Jesse without knowing about the sock? He snorted to himself and wandered towards the fourth bay, where Jesse was waving to him through the windowed doors like an idiot. Hanzo smiled; it was good to see him again – even if three days weren’t much time at all.

“Hey there, darlin’!” Jesse crowed as Hanzo stepped into the bay and sat down on the provided visitor’s bench.

“Hello.” Hanzo said as he tossed Jesse’s belongings onto the bed – two ties and all.

“So, y’ saw, ey?” Jesse chucked, a crooked smile on his face.

“It was planned, then?” Hanzo countered, with a mirroring grin on his own face.

“Knew you were a smart cookie.” Jesse complemented as he resolutely grabbed the hair-tie he had borrowed from Hanzo to fasten his sock. “Missed this so bad, it ain’t supposed to be drafty in these here pods, but that optimal temp bull they keep pushin’ is shit for mah stump.” He growled as he fitted the sock into place.

“What does foodstuffs have to do with being smart?” Hanzo agreed that temperatures were a real hazard when it came to stumps – his own tended to run cold as well, yet he felt that adding another euphemism to his Jesse dictionary was more important than discussing their respective amputations.

“I ain’t got a clue, I jus’ grew up with it, though I heard smart-ass more than smart cookie.” Jesse answered, a strange glow in his brown eyes. Hanzo had no idea why he kept eye-contact with this man so often that he noticed changes in them, yet he refused to break it now.

“I cannot imagine why.” Hanzo quipped back as he tried to get comfortable on the hard bench.

“Now, darlin’, I’m a wounded man, sarcasm ain’t medicine.” Jesse joked with a wink, which made Hanzo’s stomach jump a little, but he ignored it – it was probably too much mochi, damn that Genji knowing his weaknesses.

“It might heal your brain and make it wary of danger,” Hanzo parried, with a haughty toss of his head.

“Why, hot damn, if royalty says it’s so, well then it is.” Jesse wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke and looked utterly ridiculous with his scrubs, bed-head, and a worn wool bag on his arm; it was charming.

“The Shimada were many things, Cowboy, but royalty were not one of them.” Hanzo clarified, without loosing his smile at all – it was freeing to discuss his old life with Jesse, as he understood more than most.

“Then where’d ya get them princely manners?” Jesse asked, a humorous warmth suffusing his voice.

“From a man so very old he probably saw the birth of the first Shimada and decided to teach manners to every one of the line out of sheer spite for the rest of his unnaturally long life.” Hanzo answered, straight faced, as he remembered the wizened face of his stern etiquette instructor, Fumihiro, who had whipped both Hanzo, Genji, their father, and his father again into shape with a sharp tongue and even sharper reflexes.

“I guess he was one o’ them Shimada’s as well, ey, that spite bein’ a family trait n’ all.” Jesse guffawed as he looked at Hanzo’s face with something unreadable in his eyes.

“Royalty does not have negative family traits, thank you very much.” Hanzo countered, as he straightened his back, turned his face and crossed his arms.

“Thought you said ye weren’t royalty.” Jesse was still laughing.

“Royalty say whatever they wish.” Hanzo put on his most airy tone, as if he were explaining something simple to a servant who had done it the right way for years.

“That’s hypocrisy.” Jesse injected.

“That is royalty in a word.” Hanzo countered, “Rules only apply to those without pedigree or money, and as I was raised with both, you must understand that we had our own set of rules.” Hanzo managed to keep his face straight, as he half wanted to laugh, and half wanted to avoid this conversation as it was hitting too close to home.

“Well, sweet-pea, I bet y’all never counted on a dashin’ rogue sneakin’ up and conversin’ with the crown prince.” Jesse made a move to tip his hat, then looked around, realizing that he wasn’t wearing it.

“A dashing rogue without a hat, such a shame.” Hanzo tutted, “Might this be what you’re looking for?” He picked the hat up from the end of the bench, where Jesse’s, now clean, clothes lay waiting.

“Why yes, sugar cube, sure is.” Jesse tried to bow, as gracefully as one could in a hospital bed, which amounted to a chihuahua trapped in a blanket.  Hanzo reached out to steady Jesse, as he seemed to want to steady himself with his missing limb and, by law of nature, it didn’t work.

“That’s the trouble with them metal doohickeys we got” Jesse laughed, “We think they’re there at all times till they ain’t.” Hanzo knew full well how it felt, after all, Jesse had steadied him a few times when he was resting his legs and forgot that half of them were leaned towards the bed.

“Does it interfere with your treatment?” Hanzo asked, because he had never had to part with his prosthetics during a medical visit.

“Nah, Angie’s holdin’ it hostage so I won’t leave early.” Jesse huffed with a spectacular pout. Hanzo couldn’t help but laugh.

“I suspect it violates HIPPA in some way, yet I can see her concern.” Hanzo managed to force out as he leaned forward to catch his breath – that was an unexpected bout of merriment.

“Traitor.” Jesse was still pouting at him. The word traitor was a tetchy one for Hanzo, but the way it was said, and the setting, kept his heart-rate steady and he took it for the joke it was meant to been anyone but Jesse – well, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

“Logical.” Hanzo countered, he leaned over and put his hand on Jesse’s remaining lower arm and squeezed it warmly. “We all want you to get better.” He knew he sounded sincere, as everyone seemed to adore Jesse, and if Hanzo was completely honest, the cowboy had grown on him as well.

“I know.” Jesse answered, a deep timbre to his voice “thank you.” He said, as the perfect pout melted into a soft smile that made Hanzo glad he was sitting down.

The hair that had built around them was broken, however, when the doors to bay four swished open, and a blur of pink and blue came bounding into the enclosed space; Hanzo felt claustrophobic already.

“Hello, cowboy! I got your snacks, hide them before Mercy comes back.” It was Hana, carrying a bag of potato chips and a Mountain Dew. “Hi there, Hanzo, nice to see you outside your cave.” She smiled, and Hanzo really couldn’t get mad, she gave off such an adorable little sister vibe that he almost wanted to scold her for bringing snacks to people who, clearly, weren’t supposed to have them.

“Good to see you, as well” he settled for, as the fraternal feelings she evoked still made him slightly uncomfortable in light of Genji. Hanzo hid the snacks in Jesse’s stack of clothes when Hana gave them up.

“Mercy was giving me the evil-eye, so I need to go before she finds a reason to keep me here.” Hanzo looked at Hana and noticed the bruise-blue circles around her eyes and felt a wash of worry pour over his heart. “I’m also having a stream, Hanzo, you should come, and if you get released, Jesse, you should come too.” She flounced out of the bay before either of the men could get in a word edge-wise.

“Yer worried, ain’t ya?” Jesse’s words shook Hanzo out of the slight stupor he had fallen into after Hana’s abrupt visit and even abrupter departure.

“She looks like she has not slept in weeks.” Hanzo admitted. Jesse made a low noise in the back of his throat and didn’t say anything more. “I had those eyes before I went to Haruto.” Hanzo continued, “It made me reckless.”

“That’s why yer drinkin the tea?” Jesse asked.

“It is better than energy drinks and cocaine.” Hanzo never became the fabled shaking, trashed, dirty side-of-the-road wreck that most schools still used as warning signs against drugs, as he had told Jesse; he had Pedigree and Money, capital letters deserving, and that allowed him to be a classy addict that wouldn’t embarrass the Shimada name, yet allowed him to work beyond his actual capabilities. Being on the run had exacerbated his use, and, eventually, a day without cocaine was a day without function – Haruto had sighed when he saw the state of his old friend and kicked him into the shower.  

“I’d say that tea is a far sight better.” Jesse agreed as he scratched his beard. “My poison is whiskey, can’t handle the stuff – I get a bottle, I don’t got a bottle fer long.” Jesse admitted – and that was what Hanzo so enjoyed; he would share, and Jesse would share, and they could actually have a conversation about it without it being filled with morals, judgement, disappointment and whatever other shit normal people drudged up when faced with uncomfortable topics.

“I thought cowboys and whiskey were a cliché?” Hanzo asked with a joking lilt.

“Yeah, but I do live up to it, pardner” Jesse smiled, but that strange warmth was gone from his eyes. Hanzo put his hand back on Jesses.

“I guess we should be glad that Overwatch is an upstanding organization – no temptation for either of us.” Hanzo tried to smile and see if it would put that look back in Jesse’s eyes.

“Yeah, Overwatch at least – Blackwatch was a different matter. One of our best hackers was a tweaker.” Jesse revealed – they had talked a lot about Deadlock, but not so much about Blackwatch, and a picture was slowly being painted as to why; something had happened, something that wasn’t the public ravaging of Overwatch and Blackwatch as a collective.

“Hiroki was one of ours – he was a fan as well.” Hanzo admitted, for lack of better words – he always felt that sharing similar experiences was easier than trying to dissect how other people felt about their own. He remembered Hiroki well, it was one of the first deaths Hanzo had to deal with. He’d been a bright boy, even when he wasn’t strung out on whatever dope Hanzo’s father had fed him, he was, as his name intended, a large sparkle. When Hanzo saw him gunned down in a show-down between an uppity clan that thought to challenge the Shimada on their own turf, a large sparkle dimmed in Hanzo. “What happened to yours? Ours was gunned down in a fight over territory.”

“I don’t know, after Blackwatch she disappeared – her name was Olivia. She was fifteen when Blackwatch broke.” Jesse got quieter as he spoke. Hanzo deliberately took things a step further and tangled his hand with Jesse’s and squeezed the strong, calloused fingers with his own.

“If she was as good as you say, she might be causing trouble somewhere else.” Hanzo tried to lighten the mood; there were too many pitfalls in both their histories, and to be honest, they were deeper than most water-wells.

“I hope so.” Jesse sighed “She was tough as nails, and after Gabriel got through with her, she had a set of diamond.”

“A set of diamond?” Hanzo asked, because it seemed odd that anyone would have a set if diamond anything in a black covert group unless it was diamond tipped drills made for less legal actions.

“Diamond balls – she’d surpassed brass long afore.” Jesse smiled and some of his softness returned, “I hope she got out.”

“I hope so too – too many of us leave in body bags, or in crutches.” Hanzo sighed; apparently the pitfall was insistent and was demanding that they take a trip down a dark hole, because sidestepping it hadn’t worked really well.

“Ya still speakin’ like yer in it.” Jesse said, he squeezed Hanzo’s hand back.

“I sometimes feel like I am.” Hanzo admitted – after all, he was still living on stolen Shimada funds, working with an illegal group of vigilantes, because that was all Overwatch was right now, and despite their delusions of grandeur, he was still doing as he’d always done; killing people for the side he had taken. The corpses littering the streets of Dorado with arrows in fatal places could attest to that.

“Do you want me to serve ya a platitude on a silver plate?” Jesse murmured as he stroked Hanzo’s knuckles with his thumb.

“If it works.” Hanzo shrugged, distracted by how Jesse’s callouses felt on his skin.

“It won’t, but it’ll be real pretty n’ flowery.” Jesse kept his tone the same, and Hanzo almost felt like it was sand running across his skin, not sticking uncomfortably, but rushing past and tickling.

“I think we should save them for the new recruits.” Hanzo finally decided, and Jesse barked out a dry laugh that sounded anything but happy.

“Ain’t that the truth. Treat ‘em poor young ‘ins like mushrooms; shovel ‘em full of shit and keep them in the dark.”

“And pray they do not see the light.” Hanzo added; because being kept in the dark he was a blessing you never knew you had until you had no way back, and all you had was the spot-light of reality blinding you. They sat there, in the silence, fingers intertwined, until Mercy came back and kicked Hanzo out – visitation hours were over.


End file.
